


Semper ad Meliora

by SockFightChampion01



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed: Unity - Fandom
Genre: Assassin girl gang, Assassin's Creed - Freeform, Assassin's Creed: Unity, F/M, Hopefully non-toxic and well-written strong female character, I hope, I like to believe she had a glow-up, I promise its okay, Just some stabbing, Non-Graphic Violence, OCs grow up so fast, Probably some stabbing, Some Canon-Typical Violence, Templar-born Assassin, There will be fluff, They both get a little damaged, but its okay, there will be tears, very little though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-04 04:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 76,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14584656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SockFightChampion01/pseuds/SockFightChampion01
Summary: Always Towards Better ThingsWhat if there was something slightly different about Arno’s story?What if Elise wasn’t the only De La Serre child?What if she had a sister?Naeva De La Serre is the forgotten child in her family. She is the the ‘heir to spare’ as it were, and though her father loves her, he often has little time for his second daughter.For years she puts up with her older sister who sees her as nothing but a nuisance, and grapples with the deep-seated crush she has on Arno- the boy their father took in after his own father was murdered -whom Elise has all but bewitched. She knows the best she can hope for is to marry advantageously and not bring dishonor to their Templar family.But after the death of Lord De La Serre, and being exiled by her sister, Naeva leaves the Templars and sets out to make a name for herself elsewhere, trying to forget everything she knows.As fate would have it, perhaps her place is with the Assassins...





	1. Chapter I: Ave Atque Vale

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Here's the first chapter of a fairly large undertaking I've been working on for the last year. It's been sort of an off-again-on-again thing and I didn't want to get ahead of myself by posting something without having most of it finished first. I have the first eleven chapters done now, with three or four to go and then I'll be finished.  
> I mostly like how this turned out, but I don't have a beta first of all, and because of this being an off-again-on-again thing, the continuity of the style might not be solid. For instance, I wrote this chapter, like, last July so it'll probably sound different compared to later chapters. If you notice anything off, just let me know and hopefully I'll get around to fixing it.  
> Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Elise had a sister?
> 
> (Updates Fridays)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any way shape or form, only the OCs belong to me.**
> 
> Thanks for reading guys! I will hopefully update more regularly than I have this last week.

**Chapter I: Ave Atque Vale**

_Translation: Hail and Farewell ___

__Laying on her back in the shadows of the dusty tavern bedroom, on a bed that was less than properly clean, Naeva’s mind was wandering a thousand miles away._ _

__Her father was dead._ _

__Stabbed in the neck, he had suffocated to death within seconds._ _

__She knew because she’d been there when it had happened. The murder hadn’t taken place in front of her, but she had been present at the same party it had happened at. A soiree dedicated to her older sister, Elise, to mark her induction into the Templar Order. She would be the next leader of the Templars when their father stepped down if he had his way._ _

__Naeva hadn’t yet been inducted. She was only eighteen, with three years to go before her own ceremony was to take place. The Order had never thought of her much, and she had only been recognized by her father’s closest associates who often appeared at the estate to talk business. Even then, sometimes she had to refresh refresh their memories a bit since she had been sent to study in Italy two years prior._ _

__She would have been going back if her father hadn’t died so suddenly._ _

__It had been good to see her father again. Her mother had loved her, but she had passed when Naeva was ten, so that left her father as the sole person in the House of Serre that loved her and actually acknowledged her existence._ _

__That was if she didn’t count Arno Dorian._ _

__The boy her father had taken as his ward after a trip to the palace in Versailles went tragically awry had grown into a kind and helpful young man who Naeva couldn’t help but like. His dry humor had used to make her laugh, and once she found her wit, she discovered she could easily fire a comeback when he turned his sarcasm on her. The younger de la Serre could never admit it out loud, but she liked him- far more than she knew she should._ _

__She was perhaps the only person who knew the full extent of his relationship with Elise. She wasn’t too pleased with it, knowing her sister’s charms well, and that the older girl would likely cast him aside once he did something she didn’t like, regardless of his feelings. A part of Naeva wondered if her sister had gotten with him just to spite her. It was a petty sort of thing she had done before and Naeva wouldn’t put it past her._ _

__Even so, she had been looking forward to matching wits with Arno during her return home. However, when she arrived, she was disappointed to discover that she was being taken directly from the docks to the Estates-General where the soiree was to be held. Sadly, she was alone in the carriage, with not even her father to greet her._ _

__Upon arriving at the Estates, on the other hand, she was pleased to be greeted by her father, who was standing with another man- whom he introduced to her as Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, the _Comte de Mirabeau_ and elected deputy to the Third Estate. Since her father clearly had business with the man, she had curtseyed and politely excused herself after a few moments and wandered further into the debate halls to observe._ _

__It was while her eyes were wandering around the room that she had spotted Arno in the crowd, looking lost. She hesitated, considering his handsome features for a long moment, studying them from afar. It seemed that since she left for Italy, he had grown more handsome. Was such a thing possible? She had thought him good-looking before her time abroad, but now he had once again changed his looks. A warm feeling bubbled up inside her and she felt heat creep up her neck as she watched him. He scanned the crowd, obviously searching for a face._ _

___Or a certain shock of red hair_ , Naeva thought with a grimace. Much to her disappointment, he seemed to give up his search in the debate halls and moved on. Her hesitation cost her as he turned away and disappeared into the crowd. Gritting her teeth, she reprimanded herself for fawning over him mentally like some starry-eyed schoolgirl. A schoolgirl she may be in the eyes of her father and sister, but starry-eyed she was not. Defeated, she resigned herself to finishing preparations for her sister’s induction ceremony and spent hours doomed to boredom._ _

__The party that followed the ceremony wasn’t much better. There was drinking and dancing, but Naeva wasn’t feeling particularly merry. As the largely unknown second De La Serre daughter, it was rare that anyone paid her any mind. She wasn’t exactly the spitting image of her sister, either. Elise had favored their mother, with wavy flame-red auburn hair, and looks to match. Naeva, on the other hand, had favored their father (at least, how he might have looked in youth), with darker, almost walnut brown hair, slightly more freckles, hazel eyes instead of green, and an all around smaller face. Thus, Naeva’s traits paled in comparison to her sister’s striking beauty and apparently memorable personality._ _

___‘Striking’ my foot_ , Naeva had thought as she watched everyone dance, all of them taking the moment simply to be merry and forget that the world beyond was rumbling about revolution because of things just like this._ _

__She hadn’t noticed the figure pushing his way through the crowd until he agilely slipped past a dancing couple at the edge of the floor right in front of her face. Recognizing the suit as her father’s Naeva did a double take and quickly reached out to grab the man’s arm. Halting, Arno turned instantly, looking ready to shake her off and give her a brusque “not interested” but paused when he registered who had done the stopping._ _

__“Naeva!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up with recognition and a smile. “ _Mon Dieu_ , its been forever.” Naeva smiled and nodded, giddiness bubbling up inside her at the sight of him. He looked just as handsome up close as he had two years ago, his hair still tied back with a ribbon, only a few short locks falling free. He was wearing one of her father’s dress suits!_ _

__“Its good to see you too, Arno. Mind if I ask what you’re wearing?” she replied, doing her best to keep her tone from betraying her. Arno glanced down at himself before laughing sheepishly and reaching up to rub the back of his neck._ _

__“I’ll have to apologize to your father for borrowing it later. I’m already in trouble as it is, I’m not supposed to be here,” he admitted. Naeva frowned, her mouth falling open as she feigned shock._ _

__“What?” she exclaimed, “Elise didn’t invite you? Incredible. Thirteen years of friendship and absolutely no loyalty. I see you’ve gotten better at hiding in plain sight, then.”_ _

__Arno grinned at her jest. While Elise had come to despise her quick wit- the only thing she was allowed to share with Arno -he had at least appreciated it._ _

__“You have as well, it seems,” he replied, “Not a man around you for miles.”_ _

__“In which case would you prefer to be addressed as _Madame_ or _Mademoiselle_?” Naeva asked mock seriously, a single brow raised. Throwing his head back a little, Arno gave a short bark of laughter and chuckled for a moment. As he looked around, however, he saw something and he gave a single nod before returning his attention to Naeva._ _

__“I’m sorry, _mon amie_ ,” he said, his face showing his apology was genuine. “There’s something I almost forgot I need to see to. How long are you in town for?”_ _

__“Only a few days,” she said, glad her voice wasn’t giving her away. She could think of one or two things Arno had seen that would distract him from this. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the Estate.”_ _

__He grimaced as he began to edge away from her. “I hope so. Olivier might keep me too busy,” he replied. “Regardless, I’ll do my best to make sure I see you before you go.”_ _

__Naeva smiled. “Make sure of it! I want to see if I've improved my skill at cards!!” she called in farewell. He grinned again before waving and turning away. He paused for a moment, searching before he spotted whatever- or whoever -it was he’d been looking for earlier and set off through the crowd again._ _

__Returning to the party, she had had only a few minutes of peace more to watch the dancing and ruminate on how Arno, deep beneath the sarcasm and remaining trauma of his difficult childhood, was a good man. She had seen a small parade of guards rushing through the crowd on the opposite side of the dance floor and decided to follow them._ _

__Only a few moments later her life was thrown upside down._ _

__Her father was dead. François de la Serre was dead._ _

__According the guards who had found the body, Arno Victor Dorian, ward to Lord de la Serre, was the likely culprit._ _

__Convicted of murder before he could even awaken from the blow a guard had given him to head, he was hauled off and locked away in the Bastille._ _

__The next few days were but a numb blur to Naeva. Cancelling her return to Italy, she stayed put because of a notion she’d picked up that she shouldn’t leave Elise during this time. They had already lost their mother. Now their father was gone too, and Arno couldn’t be at their sides for obvious reasons._ _

__The funeral came and went. The few remaining relatives in France arrived and stayed for a day or two but, as unattached as they were, they left quickly. Elise’s friends came to call, along with some of Naeva’s former acquaintances, but like their relatives, anyone who came to offer comfort didn’t stay long and left the sisters to their mourning._ _

__By the time two weeks had passed, Arno’s sentence had officially been served. When she found out that Arno had been sentenced to life in the Bastille for what looked like premeditated murder, Naeva had cried. Mainly because, not even ten minutes before the ordeal he had been laughing and joking with her as though nothing were wrong, as though she hadn’t been gone for two years in another country. He had still looked at her with the same light in his eyes that night as he had when he smiled at her encouragingly as she boarded the ship taking her away to Italy two years prior._ _

__Through the entire ordeal, she and Elise had managed to be civil with one another, perhaps even sisterly. They had talked more in two weeks than they had in ten years, and Naeva couldn’t say she was displeased with that particular turn of events._ _

__However, the day after Arno’s sentencing, everything blew up._ _

__Naeva had come downstairs that morning to find Elise angrily taking a sword to the parlour furniture. The settee cushions were now stabbed through and in tatters, the wooden framework of the chairs scarred from the sabre blade._ _

__Even when Elise registered Naeva’s presence in the door, she hadn’t stopped and only continued to take all her anger out on the seating arrangement. Out of hesitant curiosity, Naeva had inquired as to what was wrong. Her sister had been fine since their father’s death, aside from a few occasional joint breakdowns filled with crying, and had seemed shell-shocked if anything._ _

__Now, though, she seemed furious and the younger de la Serre wasn’t sure why._ _

__After asking her question Elise only became angrier, as though she had been reminded of why she was so enraged. “He did it. He killed father,” Elise snarled, further confusing Naeva as to what was wrong. As much as it hurt to admit it, they had come to understand this._ _

__“Sister, I thought we had settled this,” she stated, fighting to keep the burning ache in her throat from making a reappearance as she shrugged and let her arms fall limply against her sides. “Arno killed father.”_ _

__“No, he didn’t,” Elise shot back condescendingly, as though Naeva were stupid to think so. “Not in the way you think, at least. It’s like we said. He would never harm father, not intentionally. Arno might not have wielded the blade, but he’s more involved in his death than you think.”_ _

__Pointing her sword to a note and envelope that lay strewn on the floor, Naeva cautiously moved towards it, crouching to pick it up with shaky hands._ _

__“Don’t bother reading it. The long and short of it is that that note could’ve saved father’s life. If Arno had bothered delivering it,” Elise snapped, still pacing several meters away. Naeva eyed her sister for a moment, wary of the weapon in her hand. Deemed the more “delicate” daughter, she didn’t have the same experience with weaponry that her sister did. She’d been taught the basics and how to defend herself against an Assassin long enough to get away, but that was it._ _

__She remembered it was because the first time their mother's Templar friend and their combat teacher, Mr. Weatherall, had tried to teach her to wield a sword; she’d dropped it at the first blow and begun crying because of the sound it made. Elise, always the cruel one, had teased her about it for weeks. She and Mr. Weatherall had kept at it, though, and he eventually taught her how to defend herself with a knife. A knife which she usually kept strapped to her leg underneath her skirts._ _

__A knife which was currently strapped to her thigh under her nightdress._ _

__Remaining in place crouched on the floor, she shifted her right leg into a position that was simultaneously more comfortable and that would allow her better access to the dagger through a fold in her gown. If Elise came at her, she would be ready to defend herself._ _

__It wasn’t that she had momentarily forgotten the weapon strapped to her thigh that scared her, it was Elise herself. Her sister was a remarkable swordswoman, whereas Naeva was barely adequate. She could defend herself in an attack, that was all. Her mother and father had made certain she was prepared to face an Assassin, not her own older sister who had repeatedly beaten and harassed her when they sparred as children. When she had practiced with Arno, he had held back. He didn’t let her win unless she actually bested him, but he wouldn’t make her lose._ _

__Elise never held back._ _

__Naeva doubted she would start now, and of course, she didn’t._ _

__“There’s nothing we can do about it now, sister,” she began quietly, wanting to diffuse the situation but unsure what to do. “Arno is imprisoned, and we have no leads regarding the real murderer. Besides, if this letter was sealed when you found it, that means Arno didn’t know. I agree he could’ve done more, but we can’t-”_ _

__“Oh, he definitely could’ve done more!” Elise raged, cutting her sister off, “Do you know where I found that? It was on the floor of father’s study, and the door was locked. It was slipped under the door. Slipped. Under. The. Door.” With each angry word, Elise cut a new slash into the upholstery of a wingback chair._ _

__Naeva sighed, letting the feeling of the warm steel blade bolster her as much as it could. “He’s always been careless,” she muttered._ _

__“And you!” Elise shouted, rounding on Naeva, “What do you know of him? I’m the one who he’s spent the last thirteen years with, not you! How dare you say you know him! I’m the one he’s always wanted, not you! You’ll never know him like I have!”_ _

__In all her eighteen years, Naeva had never felt so affronted. How could she _not_ know Arno? She had been living under the same roof as him for as long as Elise had. They’d both been sent off to boarding school at the same time, despite the age difference, and returned for visits simultaneously. Arno was funny, Arno was careless, Arno was rash and quick to do things that would inevitably get him in trouble. But Arno was also caring, Arno listened to and watched out for her, Arno had took time out of his day to escort her around a street market and entertain her. Arno showed her how to play his gambling games and perform sleights of hand for amusement._ _

__She didn’t doubt that he’d shown those things to Elise, but they were her precious memories and for her sister to spit on them made the temper she kept hidden rise to the surface. She wound her hand into a fist as her normally long fuse was abruptly cut short._ _

__“ _Elise de la Serre!_ ” she snapped, her voice as high as it would go without breaking from the intensity of it. “You had Arno’s heart and love and you discard them now because he has made a mistake! He’s not you, or me! He doesn’t know the importance of it all! He’s not perfect!_ _

__“You well know I have longed for him to show me the affection he shows you, but I have not once done anything that could cause you to separate. I have been supportive and I have known since the day your relationship with him became something more! I’m not father! _I’m not blind to your antics!_ ” By the time she was done, Naeva was shouting, her voice more than raised. Elise stood in shock, looking like she’d seen a ghost._ _

__Her sister gathered herself then, drawing herself up so she looked stronger and more put together. “Leave,” she said, “Get out of this house and never return. I exile you from the House of Serre from this day forward.”_ _

__Naeva’s mouth fell open. _She can’t do this,_ she thought before realizing that, yes, Elise could. With the death of their father, and no other close male relatives that either sister cared to acknowledge, Elise was by default the head of the household._ _

__“I don’t care what you do, or where you go. Your half of the inheritance is yours to use as you like. There’s no more reputation to uphold if there’s no more House of Serre,” Elise continued blankly, her sabre now lowered. “I never want to see you again. If I do, expect no mercy.”_ _

__In that moment, Naeva wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that she had been exiled from her own family or that her sister had issued a death threat towards her. Clenching her fists, she nodded solemnly, her temper subsided in wake of her outburst. Now all that remained was defeat. “I’ll gather my things,” she whispered, turning to slowly leave the parlor._ _

__“See that you do,” Elise called to her retreating back. “I don’t expect to find you here come nightfall.”_ _

__And when Elise checked her room that night- if she checked her room at all -Naeva was long gone._ _

__She’d departed with little more than the voucher she could exchange for access to her share of her parent’s money if she ever needed it, all of the coin she had saved since before traveling to Italy, a pair of old trousers she’d “borrowed” from Arno years ago, and a fresh shirt. There was no way she’d be keeping the dress she wore now while out on the streets._ _

__The first few days of her exile weren’t terrible, all things considered, but however optimistic she might try to be, she still found herself outraged and despondent over her situation. It wasn’t the sudden downturn in quality that her life had taken, but it was the loneliness. She was missing her father, Arno- who she still counted as a friend despite whatever part he might’ve unwittingly played in her father’s death -and even her sister._ _

__More than anything, she wanted revenge on whoever had done this to her family. To whoever had taken it upon themselves to ruin their lives, and tear down all her father’s hard work._ _

__An epiphany hit her on the fourth night, lying alone in the hard bed with the noisy tavern full of rowdy people underneath her._ _

__A Templar had done this. The letter had said as much. This wasn’t the work of her family’s mortal enemies- the Assassins. Someone inside the Order had conspired against her father and murdered him. Perhaps…_ _

___Perhaps the Assassins might have a lead regarding who it was.__ _

__Reaching up to her neck, she wrapped her fingers around the silver filigree Templar cross her father had gifted to her when she was twelve. It would betray all she'd ever been taught, all she'd ever known to go to the Assassins for help. They might even kill her outright if she dared approach them._ _

__Then again, what had the Templars ever done for her? She was nobility by birth, yes, but an inducted Templar she was not. She doubted that even if such was the case they wouldn’t have extended help to her. With her father dead, what would they stand to gain by aiding her?_ _

__As of yet, no one from the Order had done anything to help the two daughters of the deceased Grandmaster aside from offering condolences and other little niceties. They had each and every one of them sat on their hands through all of it. They had done _nothing _.___ _

____Speculation aside, what could she do that might make her useful to her sworn enemies? Aside from throwing her little daggers at practice targets, she had no martial skill to speak of. Elise had had all the training in that regard. She might be able to offer some intelligence regarding the Order if it were necessary, but what did she know? Her father never included her in his meetings, and had only taught her Templar philosophy and etiquette._ _ _ _

____Gritting her teeth, the clenched her fist around the pendant in her grasp and gave it a sharp tug, snapping the chain from around her neck. Rolling over in her bed, she chucked it towards the wall and watched it instead sail out the window. She sighed. While she’d missed the satisfying clatter of her last link to her family hitting a wall, she knew someone would be finding a fancy little trinket in the morning._ _ _ _

____Realizing her temper had just cost her her most valuable possession, she deflated. Guilt brought tears to her eyes as thoughts of her lost family and her inability to do anything consumed her again._ _ _ _

_____What can you do, weak, foolish little girl? What can you do?__ _ _ _

____The thoughts had her sister’s voice. She gripped her blanket in her hands and cried. Nothing. There was nothing she could do to avenge her father. To even move forward. She _was _weak. She should just leave vengeance and the duty that came with upholding her family’s besmirched name to Elise. She could trust her sister to do that much.___ _ _ _

______Besides, she wasn’t even a De La Serre anymore, what would she have been able to do about it anyway?_ _ _ _ _ _

______Her logic, which normally was a comfort to her, caused more tears instead of less and she sobbed breathlessly into her pillow. When she came back up for air, she pulled her sheet more tightly around her person and used the corner to wipe at her eyes and nose before firmly shutting the former and willing herself to sleep._ _ _ _ _ _

______Things were changing, faster than she could handle to be sure, but she would be damned if she didn’t at least try to keep up._ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter II: Bona Fide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naeva makes her first move...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any way shape or form, only the few OCs belong to me.**

**Chapter II: Bona Fide**

_In Good Faith ___

__The hall she was met with seemed so different from the cathedral above in so many ways._ _

__Inside the _Sainte Chapelle_ , everything had been brightly lit; the morning sun pouring through the stained glass windows and painting the walls and marble flooring in virtually every shade and color. It was the prettiest thing Naeva thought she’d ever seen._ _

__The halls of the catacombs that ran below the structure, on the other hand, were dark and musty. Torches lined the walls, giving her occasional good views of the walls alongside her. She swept some straw from her trousers and grimaced upon noticing a fresh tear in the fabric across her thigh. That simply wouldn't do if she wanted to make a good impression on the Assassins, but she hardly had access to a contraband sewing kit at the moment._ _

__Sighing, she squinted down the hallway, which despite being partially lit, was difficult to see clearly down. There was only one way to go from here. Glancing back at the haystack she had landed in, still illuminated from the cathedral above, she hoped her father wouldn't be too displeased with her course of action._ _

__It had taken weeks to find this place, and as more time passed, she became more convinced that this was the proper way for her to at least begin handling things. She stepped forward, starting down the hall- sound in her decision to walk away from everything she'd ever known._ _

___It is the best way_ , she thought determinedly. Those words had become her mantra since she'd made her choice that night in the tavern. They had gotten her through to this point, dodging fire from the revolution and trying to stay alive until now. If the Assassins wouldn't take her, she was done and had chosen to leave France if it came to that. If they killed her, so be it._ _

__If they took her in, she would gladly join the fight and seek what vengeance she could in her father’s name._ _

__She quickened her stride. The corridor seemed far too long and her patience was far too short. It was fortunate, however, six weeks amongst the rowdy and soon to rebel lower-class had improved her reflexes._ _

__A sabre blade whipped out in front of her, fast enough that she only caught it due to the lightning quick shimmer of torchlight across the metal of the blade. She pulled up short, the sharp edge pressing lightly against her neck, just hard enough to hold her there. It was a position she was familiar with many times; Elise had used the move on more than one occasion when they had trained together. But this sword wasn't held by Elise, her sister whom she could generally count on not to harm her overly much._ _

__This was an Assassin._ _

__The sword’s wielder stepped from the shadows of another corridor and into the torchlight, his blue-grey coat taking shape at last enough for her to make him out. A neatly groomed beard concealed the lower part of his face, but did nothing to hide the obvious downturn of his mouth._ _

__“ _Arretez_ ,” he growled, shifting to a position that would allow him a better shot at running Naeva’s neck through if he so desired. “Do not move.”_ _

__“ _Certainement, Monsieur_ ,” she replied, though she fairly itched to raise her hands into the air to placate him, show him she was unarmed. She felt his eyes narrow on her, and from what she could tell, the scowl he was wearing deepened._ _

__“What is your business, here, _Mademoiselle_?” He inquired gruffly. Naeva swallowed, feeling the blade edge move against her throat._ _

__“I wish to speak to the Council,” she replied, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. “I don’t have an appointment with them, and I highly doubt they’re expecting me so I can wait if I need to.” She stopped herself, willing her brain to quit rambling. She’d never done it before in all her years as the daughter of a Lord, and she didn’t plan to start now._ _

__The Assassin gave a quiet harrumph and drew his sword away from her neck, though he did not sheath it. “You were expected, _petite dame_ ,” he informed her, gesturing for her to move deeper into the halls once again. “You were being watched as you found your way in.”_ _

__Naeva stepped as he directed, careful not to stray too far from him, lest he raise his sword to her again. She hadn’t wanted to pose a threat while petitioning the Assassins for help so she’d left her dagger hidden near the tavern she’d been staying at. In retrospect, it was a foolish idea. “You mean someone watched me blunder my way around that cathedral as I tried to figure out how to get that door open without a key?” To her dismay, the Assassin nodded. She knew for a fact that her entrance had not been the most graceful. She’d been terrified to jump from the ledge that overlooked the gaping hole in the floor of the _Sainte Chapelle_ , but she’d done it anyway._ _

__She’d figured she would have to get used to it. From what she knew, being an Assassin involved a lot of jumping from high places and falling._ _

__“I commend you for your bravery, though,” he told her, voice low as if he didn’t want the walls to hear. “You took the Leap. Of all the people in the world, not many are courageous enough for that. Next you might even find you have _la Vision_.”_ _

__Naeva wanted to ask what he meant by that, but kept silent as they reached a junction in the corridors. More hooded figures stood in this space, and all of them turned to look at her when they noticed her presence. She swallowed nervously. Many of them wore masks, hiding the lower part of their face while the beaked hood concealed the rest in shadow. She felt very much like she was being sized up._ _

__The Assassin she had met gave her a gentle nudge forward when she realized her feet had stuttered in their pace and she continued on her way, hoping she was going the right direction. Once a safe distance away- she hoped -she voiced another question she’d been harboring. “Are you a guard?” She inquired, her curiosity piqued._ _

__“ _Non_. Not usually anyway,” he answered, slowly beginning to sound more genial as they walked. “I was just closest this time.” Naeva nodded. That made sense. A little bit further, and then she heard the sound of hinges creaking ahead of her._ _

__Two ornate wooden doors parted ahead of her, courtesy of another set of Assassins, to reveal a brightly lit hall beyond. She passed the door guards and stopped just within the shadow of the doorframe. Her escort moved up behind her._ _

__“The Council has been summoned,” he told her, before giving her a little nudge forward with his hand on her shoulder. “ _Bonne chance, Mademoiselle_.”_ _

__Stumbling through the opening and into the chamber, she heard the doors promptly slam shut behind her. She swallowed nervously once again, eyes drawn down the carpeted steps to the courtyard-like space which stretched before what looked like a looming judge’s bench. Her gaze stopped on the figures that stood as the judiciary- white cloaked people with faces too dark to see from here._ _

__“Come forward,” a deep baritone called, causing Naeva to flinch. Mentally chastising herself, she did as she was told and slowly picked her way down the sloping set of stairs and edged her way into the circle of light. Upon daring to look up, she immediately wished she hadn’t. Every single one of the Assassin Council members was scrutinizing her._ _

___Come on Naeva_ , she thought, _this is the moment you’ve been waiting for!__ _

__“What is your business with us, _Mademoiselle_?” the one at the center- probably the Mentor -inquired of her. Knowing she could not possibly leave him without an answer, not when this was her only chance, she took a deep breath and said a brief prayer hoping she would not make a mess of things._ _

__“Masters,” she began, bowing her head in respect. “My name is Naeva de la Serre,” she stated, “and I come in good faith.”_ _

__There were gasps from each member, and some concerned murmuring between a few of them. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being unsheathed and she whirled around to see one of the masked Assassins advancing on her purposefully, his sword raised menacingly. She made to back away, but as she did so, the voice of the one she assumed was Mentor here stopped him._ _

__“Stay your blade, Assassin!” He barked. To her surprise, the man simply bowed his head, sheathed his sabre, and returned to his shadows where she now knew he was watching her. She wondered how many more of them were hidden in the darkness of the meeting hall._ _

__Turning back to the Council, she saw the Mentor push his hood back enough for her to see his face. She frowned. It was faint, but she felt like she knew him from somewhere._ _

__“Naeva de la Serre,” he repeated, his tone reminiscent. “To be frank, you are one of the last people I ever expected to see here in these halls.”_ _

__“I’m sorry _Monsieur_ ,” she replied, “you seem familiar to me, but I’m not certain we’ve met.”_ _

__“We have met, but only once, and only very briefly. I am amazed you even recall me enough to think me familiar,” he said with a smile. “I met you nearly two months ago at the Estates-General. You had just arrived back in France, if I remember correctly. I was speaking with your father when we met.”_ _

__Ah yes, that day. The day everything had gone wrong. Her memories were a bit hazy on the detail in the hours before her sister’s soirée, but she recalled the event. “Comte de Mirabeau. _Monsieur_ Riqueti?” She asked. The man smiled, seeming pleased that she remembered him._ _

__“ _Oui_ ,” he said, “That would be I.”_ _

__Naeva grinned, a bigger smile than she’d smiled since before leaving for Italy. Granted, the circumstances were strange, and she had a thousand questions regarding why her father, the Templar Grandmaster, had been speaking so congenially with the Assassin Mentor, but now was not the time for all that. Right now, she needed help, and both of them saw the need to get back on topic._ _

__“So what brings you, the daughter of a Templar, to the lair of the Assassins?” One of the other Council members, a dark-skinned man with a voice deeper than Mirabeau’s, inquired returning everyone’s focus to the subject at hand._ _

__“Yes, I was getting to that, sir,” she answered, keeping her tone humble. “The long and short of it is, I need help._ _

__“I may have been a Templar’s daughter, but I never have been one myself. Elise was groomed from the beginning to become the next Grandmaster; I was simply the spare. I know my parents would be rolling in their graves if they knew what I was doing here, but I feel it is the right course to take- the only course to take._ _

__“I want to join the Assassins,” she finished firmly, glancing from one hooded face to another, and gauging their reactions. Though she didn’t dare hope, perhaps she had a toe in with the Comte, whatever good that might do her. The others, however, she was unable to tell._ _

__“Tell me, young one,” a decidedly female voice exited one of the Masters in her direction, “can you fight?”_ _

__Naeva had known this was coming. She felt herself deflate. This was where they would reject her. “I-I have very little training, _Madame_ ,” she replied truthfully. “I know a bit about knives and how to defend myself with a dagger, but nothing more. I was raised more gently than my sister. My parents thought I was unsuited to that way of life.”_ _

__“Perhaps they were right,” the female Master stated, more to herself than anyone else, though they could all hear her. Naeva felt like she was becoming smaller and smaller._ _

__Finally, Mirabeau raised his hand and she returned her eyes to him. “Very well,” he said, “Naeva de la Serre, daughter of François and Julie de la Serre, you have come before us to join the Brotherhood of Assassins. Out of the dark, you come into the light. From the light, you will return to the dark. Are you prepared to walk the eagle’s path?”_ _

__Naeva went silent for a moment, and dropped her eyes to Assassin symbol carved into the wall just in front of her. The Mentor’s words rang in her ears. _Are you prepared to walk the eagle’s path?__ _

__Was she?_ _

__She had made peace with the idea of turning her back on everything she had been taught and knew to be true, but now was the moment of truth. It hadn’t been when she’d leapt from the parapet into the church, praying there would be something soft to catch her below. It was not when she’d asked the Council for their help. It was now. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and slowly exhaled._ _

__Looking back up at the waiting Council, she said, determinedly: “Yes.” She might have been mistaken, but she thought she saw the edge of Mirabeau’s mouth turn up in a faint smile. He gestured down in front of them, to what looked like a fountain pool and the chalice set into the wall adjacent to it._ _

__“Then drink,” he stated, amusement hinting in his voice._ _

__Doing as she was bid, Naeva stepped forward and took the chalice from its place, dipped it into the liquid in the fountain, and did as Mirabeau told her. Seconds later, her world began to spin and she stumbled away from the fountain._ _

___I’ve been drugged_ , was all she could think before everything tilted drastically to the left and she blacked out._ _

__

__~oOo~_ _

__

__When she returned to consciousness, or what felt like it, she instantly knew she was not awake. She glanced at her surroundings, watching as everything but the marble of the floor where she stood crumbled and fell away, leaving a path that slowly faded into a void of white. Lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness, she started forward._ _

__Walking along her only path, her eyes drifted to the left and right of her. Floating in the space were the strangest paintings she’d ever seen. They looked like some of the ones she’d seen in the palace at Versailles in the King’s possession. However, despite her interest being vaguely piqued by the odd collection of art, her feet kept moving, as though the white void at the end of her path was sucking her towards it._ _

__Upon reaching the void, though, she realized it simply dropped off. The white maw opened up below her, though the fear she had felt previously seemed to have disappeared. With a deep breath, she spread her arms and allowed herself to fall forward._ _

__

__\---_ _

__

__The white faded away to reveal yet another hall, but this time, the hall was familiar.  
She knew the deep forest green paint and the intermittent vaulted floor-to-ceiling windows. This was the main corridor of the west wing of the de la Serre country estate. A faint smile graced her face, recalling the many times she had run up and down this hall, dodging servants and visitors alike. She had been chastised for such behavior many a time by her mother._ _

__Continuing forward, she glanced out the first window and promptly realized something was off kilter here. In the field beyond the immediate lawn, she could see herself- likely no more than seven years old -riding one of the many carriage horses she had been so fond of, her arms flung wide like wings._ _

__“ _Naeva! What do you think you are doing? Slow down!_ ”_ _

__She gasped. The voice was her father’s, though she didn’t see him anywhere. Footsteps behind her caused her to whirl around, and the sounds of children laughing reached her ears as she spotted three small figures racing down the hall towards her, one lagging behind the rest._ _

__The first to reach her she recognized easily- it was Arno. If these were supposed to be her memories, then this couldn’t have happened very long after his arrival. He was the only one in the house that size at the time who wore trousers instead of skirts. Elise was hot on his heels, both of them giggling. He turned briefly and hesitated, looking back for the third member of their party, but Elise snatched his hand up and fairly dragged him through the door at the end of the hall._ _

___Elise! Arno! Wait! Wait up!_ _ _

__Naeva watched as her own younger self, probably five years of age if her estimation was correct, hurried after her sibling and friend. She had her skirts hiked up as best she could, but the material was too much to handle and it slipped from her grasp, causing her to stumble and fall. Was it strange to pity herself? She wondered just what was in the liquid she’d imbibed that would make her see something like this._ _

__Approaching her former self, she knelt by the dark-haired little girl who looked up and stared at the door with glassy eyes. On a whim, she reached out to try and comfort the vision, but upon making contact with the silhouette, it disappeared like smoke on the wind._ _

___”No! No, Papa! I want Maman! Please don’t make me go!”_ _ _

___“I’m sorry,_ ma petite nuit _, you must stay here.”__ _

___“Papa, please!”_ _ _

___“Stay. Here.”_ _ _

___“Papa!”_ _ _

__Naeva whirled around once again in time to see and hear one of the doors along the right hand wall slam shut. A feeling of dread pooled in her stomach. She knew perfectly well what memory this was. The image of her, older this time, nine, nearly ten years old, fell to her knees in front of the door, shoulders shaking as she cried, inconsolable._ _

__She gritted her teeth, recalling what had been going through her mind then. Why did _Elise_ get to stay with their mother? She was _dying_. It was very likely she would never see her beloved _maman_ again._ _

__Afraid to touch the apparition, lest it disappear like the one before it, she stepped toward it carefully and watched the figure of her younger self as she sobbed on the floor._ _

___”Naeva?”_ _ _

__She snapped her head around to see another figure, taller than her own counterpart. Her eyes widened when she saw it was Arno. He would have been eleven or twelve at the time of this memory. She smiled at the thought that he still had yet to begin dressing himself, wearing whatever fancy outfits her mother and father obtained for him._ _

___”...Arno?”_ _ _

__Her gaze traveled back to the crumpled figure of her childhood self as she stopped her sobbing enough to look up at him, eyes red and puffy, snot dribbling from her nose. Naeva grimaced at the sight of herself, but Arno didn’t seem fazed in the least. He approached her and crouched down beside her, holding out his hand to her._ _

__Sniffling, the younger Naeva accepted his offer and he helped her off the floor, guiding her to the bench across the hall._ _

__The older Naeva watched in shock, realization striking her in the head. This was when she had grown so attached to Arno. Previously he had simply been a playmate that conveniently shared a house with them and served as a buffer between her and her sister. But now (and she could see the way her younger self was looking at him with stars in her eyes), now he was more. He was another child who had lost someone dear to them, who understood what the pain felt like._ _

__She remembered he had sat there with her for hours, waiting for any news of her mother, good or bad, her hand held comfortingly in his grasp. When the bad news came and Elise was finally sent out as well, he was there to hold both their hands in each of his._ _

__The scene didn’t change, but something drew Naeva’s attention to the hall itself. The walls alongside her were fading, as though they were being washed away. Twisting around, she saw the wooden door had disappeared, replaced with shards of mirror, and the floor behind her was steadily crumbling away again._ _

__Gasping, she started to run. With no skirt around her legs to hamper her, she raced down the hall as fast as she could go, the sound of the ground quaking behind her urging her on. The corridor, which really wasn't terribly long, seemed to literally stretch out before her. The shadows of her and Arno’s past selves disappeared as she moved past them._ _

__Much to her surprise, she heard laughter from beside herself. Turning her head to see, she caught sight of yet another version of herself running parallel to her- this time wearing an elegant dress that she really probably shouldn’t have been running in. She knew this memory as well. It was her last day in France, right before being shuttled to the docks to be shipped off to Italy. She was 16._ _

__Her long hair flowed behind her and a smile of pure excitement and mirth graced her face. Naeva knew why this was the case: Elise had already left for England to complete her studies, so she would be getting her father and Arno all to herself. Glancing forward, she saw her Papa standing just in the doorway, a loving smile on his face. Both Naevas- past and present -stopped in front of him._ _

___”Are you ready to go,_ ma chere _?”__ _

___“Yes, Papa. I am all packed and Olivier says that he and the hands are putting my things in the carriage now.”_ _ _

___“Good. Arno is nearly finished brushing the horses. We should be on our way shortly.”_ _ _

__She recalled pouting, and complaining about Arno having to work in the stables, to which her father had replied that he needed to work to keep himself out of trouble. She had known that was true; Arno was notorious for sneaking out of the estate in Versailles and causing his fair share of local mischief, which her father was always more than willing to get him out of. After escaping the consequences of his exploits, he always had a wink to share with her on the sly and a story to tell later._ _

__Suddenly, the figures of herself and her father became hazy and disappeared. Her feet left the floor and she looked down to see there was none under her._ _

__She was falling._ _

__

__\----_ _

__

___By the time this is over, I’ll have no problem jumping from anywhere_ , she thought, climbing out of what had to be an imaginary haystack and brushing strands of dried grass from her trousers and shirt._ _

__Sighing, she took a look at her surroundings. Unlike the last two locations, it was dark here, gloomy. The white and black checkered tile was the same though. Ahead of her, a smoky figure- like one of the apparitions halfway through disappearing -ran down a path towards a building._ _

__The Palace of Versailles._ _

__Frowning, her eyes dropped back to where the figure had been, but it was gone. Not wasting another second, she took off running in pursuit. There was something here she was supposed to see and she had a bad feeling she knew what it was going to be._ _

__This time, the path would shift on her. It did not remain stationary like it had in the past and she could feel herself growing frustrated by the serpentine running and jumping and climbing she was having to do just to reach the gates of the Palace. Every now and again, she would catch sight of the figure just ahead of her, but their roads would diverge and separate them before she could get close._ _

__Finally, she leapt off the final bit of pathway and paused to catch her breath. Lifting her head enough to see ahead of her, she caught sight of something that shocked her into stillness. It was her father. He was standing outside the gate, like he was waiting for someone, or something._ _

__“Papa,” she whispered and, straightening up, she launched into a run. Her father was alive here! She wasn’t sure what she’d do once she reached him, but she knew she had to. She _needed_ to._ _

__The silhouette she had been following previously appeared out of nowhere roughly fifty meters ahead of her. Whatever it was, it reached her father first, and slashed at him with an invisible weapon._ _

__“ _Father!_ ” she screamed as he stumbled, clutching at his neck as blood flowed out of the wound. The shadow disappeared again in a fog of smoke, and Naeva thought she heard distant laughing as she skidded to a halt beside her father._ _

__She growled in anger at her unwitting defeat, tears springing to her eyes. This was not how she wanted this to go. Her eyes dropped down to her father’s now yet again passed figure on the ground, blood on his neck and face like she remembered. She hadn’t been able to save him then. She hadn’t been able to save him now, when she knew what was supposed to happen._ _

__Clenching her fists, she set her jaw and looked to the fog that the shadow had disappeared into. Marching forward determinedly, she tailed it in._ _

__

__~oOo~_ _

__

__When the haze cleared, she was in a crowded room- much like she remembered the Estates-General debate halls. Only, instead of being packed out with finely dressed members of the gentry, it was filled with dark figures, all of them wearing the same dark robes._ _

__She inched her way into the crowd, trying not to be noticed. The people- shadows, whatever they were -remained eerily silent as she slithered between them. Then, through a break in the group, she spotted the figure standing in the very center of everything._ _

__How she knew that particular shadow was the one that had delivered her father’s death blow in this nightmare, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that her body burned with rage and shook with the recollection of his supine form lying cold on the gravel drive of the estate._ _

__Weaving through the circle until she was staring at the killer’s back, she pushed forward into the light and wrapped her arm around the figure’s throat, locking it in a choke hold. On instinct, she brought her left arm forward, cocked her hand back, flicked her wrist, and thrust up. The sound of a knife snapping forward and meeting cloth and skin echoed in the hall. The figure thrashed in her grip for a time but finally went limp._ _

__Releasing her hold on the figure, it fell to the floor._ _

__Naeva thought she would be pleased in a grim sort of way that her father’s murderer was dead, but instead she felt nothing. Kneeling down, she rolled the cloaked figure over and pushed back the hood to reveal their face._ _

__...To reveal her own face._ _

__She might’ve gasped, but she wasn’t sure. She wondered how this could be. It wasn’t her fault her father had died, though she perhaps could have done a bit more, had she known what was to come._ _

___No_ , she thought, _That burden falls on Arno’s shoulders__ _

___Taking a deep breath, she reached out and brushed her fingertips over her doppelganger's glazed over eyes, closing the eyelids. Drawing her hand back, she sat on her heels and closed her eyes. It was done._ _ _

___ _

___~oOo~_ _ _

___ _

___Reopening her eyes, she had to blink a few times as the world twisted and spun and faded before returning again, but this time in warmer, richer colors that she could trust. Around her stood the the white-cloaked figures of the Assassin Council._ _ _

___She had forgotten about them._ _ _

___Looking up, Naeva observed each of their faces from her position kneeling on the stone floor in front of them. Most of them were stoic and stared at her almost critically if not indifferently, but Mirabeau still seemed vaguely pleased._ _ _

___“These are the words spoken by our ancestors. The words that lay at the heart of our creed,” he said before allowing the others to speak._ _ _

___“Stay your blade from the innocent,” the dark-skinned Master said, his gaze hardening a bit as Naeva looked at him to give him her full attention. Of the four, he seemed the most serious._ _ _

___“Hide in plain sight,” the female Master added, her tone seeming to leave no room for argument as she said her piece. It seemed there would be no room for argument with any of these men and women, with regard to their code at least. A code that was quickly coming to be Naeva’s as well._ _ _

___“Never compromise the Brotherhood,” the last Master, another light skinned man- younger than Mirabeau perhaps -finished. She nodded in agreement to show she understood before turning her attention to Mirabeau._ _ _

___“Let these tenets be branded upon your mind. Follow them, and be uplifted. Break them at your peril. Rise, Assassin,” he said, gesturing for her to get to her feet. Doing as she was bid, Naeva stood. Another masked Assassin stepped out from the shaded area behind the Masters, holding a pillow with something displayed on it. Mirabeau turned and took the object from it and nodded at the Assassin who bowed and stepped back once again. Looking back at Naeva once again, he said, “Your left arm, _s’il vou plait_.” Somewhat hesitant, because she wasn’t quite sure of everything that was happening- her mind still a touch fuzzy from whatever had spiked the water she’d drank earlier -but she did as he said and held out her left arm._ _ _

___Reaching forward, he began to strap something on to her limb as he spoke. “Naeva de la Serre is dead. She has been culled from this world with her sins and failures turned to dust. This day she is reborn, a novice of the Assassin Brotherhood.”_ _ _

___It was done._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi guys! Thanks to the guests who left kudos, you guys are awesome! I'm sorry if this story starts off a little slow. I want to say it speeds up in later chapters, but the plot is mainly focused around the OC and her journey.
> 
> Also, formatting is a pain in the butt on here. I think I might have a system right now, but I'm still trying to work italics right. I also have to make sure everything is double spaced and looks nice and overall its just a mess so please bear with me while I try to get everything taken care of. Thank you so much for your patience and even reading this story in the first place.
> 
> Last thing because I didn't mention it last chapter: I am planning on posting all of this and then coming back and fixing certain things to improve the story after its all up so this is essentially the first draft. (For instance, I plan to change Naeva's induction scene to something more personal to her rather than just a regurgitation of Arno's ( T___T)
> 
> ~Translations~
> 
> Arretez: Halt, stop (if anyone knows a better term, let me know)
> 
> Certainement, Monsieur: Yes sir 
> 
> Petite Dame: Little Lady (again, if there's a better term plz let me know)
> 
> Bonne Chance: Good luck
> 
> Have a good rest of your day, everyone!


	3. Chapter III: De Novo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naeva begins her education...

**Chapter III: De Novo**

_Translation: From the New_

Three days later found Naeva sprawled face down in the dirt that served as the “cushiony” flooring for the general training ground.

Growling, she smacked the loosely packed ground-cover with her fist. “ _Plumes de cheval_ ,” she muttered, wishing she could use stronger terms, but feeling that her friendship with her sparring partner wasn’t quite matured enough for that.

Behind her, said sparring partner, Guillaume laughed like it was the most uproarious thing he’d heard in all his life. Getting to her feet, she threw a scathing glare at him that only served to make the man snort. “You know, _petite dame_ ,” he started, as he wiped the tears spawned from his laughter from his eyes, “you aren’t going to get it right away.”

Naeva sighed, doing her best to wipe the dark stains from her new trousers and only succeeding in spreading them. Dirt hadn’t been a friend of hers since she was nine. “I know,” she replied, somewhat miffed at hearing the words again. Looking up, she saw Guillaume giving her a proud look. It was a look she knew well; the face of a man who had slid into the role of an older brother without realizing it. 

“I’m serious, Naeva,” he told her, “you’re brand new at this sort of thing. You aren’t going to be a natural at it right away, no one is. _I_ wasn’t a natural when I first came here. Learning how to hold your own in a fight is something that takes time.”

She nodded. For as often as he acted younger than his years, Guillaume was also wise beyond them. He was right. Naeva only had significant experience in fighting with a dagger, and even then, her skills were lacking. She knew next to nothing about wielding a sword, and hiding in plain sight was something she’d never even heard of, not to mention the acrobatic stunts the Assassins called “freerunning.” Hand-to-hand combat wasn’t even in her repertoire.

So when Guillaume had come along three days past at dinner after her initiation to find her sitting alone, he had offered, not only friendship, but also to show her the ropes. Lifting her fists as he had taught her- the one thing she’d managed to get right all day -she shifted into her stance as well and awaited his attack. 

“So you’ve done this before then?” She asked, as he brought his right arm forward in what would have been a powerful strike if he wasn’t slowed down. That was his method, start a fight slow and then gradually get faster until she was moving more on reflex and trying to block his jabs than anything else which eventually resulted in her tiring out and letting one of his hits slip past her guard. It was frustrating, but he at least seemed pleased with her meager progress.

He nodded. “ _Oui_. I have taught many novices and initiates the basics of how to fight. Like you, a great many of them have no experience.” She frowned, dodging another of his blows and trying the left cross he'd showed her. He sidestepped, too good for her to get a hit in. “Watch your blade,” he warned and Naeva recalled the knife she now had strapped to her left forearm. She'd have to be extra careful when throwing punches in normal combat that she not accidentally activate her hidden blade and stab someone she'd really rather knock unconscious.

Not to mention if that happened, she’d be stabbing them through her own hand.

However, in her moment of distraction, Guillaume had suddenly picked up the speed of his attacks and launched his own left arm upwards in a hook. His fist connected with her jaw and sent her flying backwards, falling on her derrière yet again. 

Staring at the ceiling, she groaned in frustration and reached a hand up to rub her aching chin. It wasn't broken, but it was going to bruise. Stinging in her lower lip and a flick of her tongue over the hurting area told her it was split and bleeding. A shadow fell over her and she looked over to see Guillaume standing beside her, shaking his head. “Focus,” he reminded her. Sighing, Naeva closed her eyes and nodded in agreement. Once again, he was right. Crouching down, he offered her his hand and helped her up.

“You've done very well for your first day, but I think you've had enough for now,” he observed, “Don't want you getting too discombobulated in one day of training.” Naeva laughed, bringing her sleeve up to her mouth to hide the blood, but Guillaume pulled it away. “A bloody lip too? At least use my handkerchief to clean that.” She continued to chuckle at the silliness of her situation as he whipped the cloth out of his waistcoat and offered it to her.

“ _Merci_ ,” she said as she accepted it from him and dabbed at the hurting area gently. She knew her lip would swell up soon and she wouldn't look right for a few days. Rookie scars, she supposed. “I'll have to be more careful,” she stated, cracking a grin as she did so.

Her sparring partner shrugged. “I'll have to be more careful not to hurt you in the future,” he said a bit sheepishly. He jerked his head in the direction of a bench at the edge of the training arena. “You should take a rest. We've been sparring for four hours and you aren't used to it yet.”

“But I will be,” she affirmed. “I will get used to it. Just like how I'll learn to fight as well as you one day. I expect it will take time, years even, but I will get there.”

“I admire your determination, _petite dame_. You will get there. With much time, dedication, and training, you will get there,” Guillaume said with a fond smile, “you will be great.”

Naeva smiled. “You said as much in the hallway when I first arrived here the other day,” she replied. He laughed.

“You just...you had a way about you. A pride. A determination. I knew you would pass the trials,” he said. Naeva laughed again, pulling his handkerchief away from her lip to check to bleeding and grimaced seeing the large red stain blossoming on the cloth.

“At least one of us had some faith in me,” she muttered, reapplying the handkerchief to her wound. “Sorry about this.”

Her friend shook his head and lifted a hand to stop her apology. “No, it's my fault. I probably should have pulled that punch,” he admitted, the corners of his mouth turned up again slightly with a smile that suggested he was recalling the event in question. Naeva frowned.

“Why didn't you, then?” She inquired, incredulous. It seemed a bit annoying that he was just now considering the idea that he had miscalculated and his actions had resulted in her being unnecessarily injured. He shrugged.

“Feinting last second wouldn't have had the same impact on you as actually following through. You see the consequences now, and you won't ever divide your focus if you can help it from here on out, right?” He asked, giving her a sidelong glance from beneath his hood.

“Not having the same impact is right,” she replied, once again pulling the kerchief away from her face to examine the severity of her bleeding. The area of her mouth felt dry enough, perhaps it wasn't as bad as she had thought. “Literally. I'm going to have to wear one of those masks I keep seeing the others wearing until the swelling goes down.”

Guillaume laughed heartily, throwing his head back again. “Oh come on, I didn't disfigure you beyond recognition. You'll be fine in a couple days,” he stated, grin never faltering. In lieu of his cheerfulness, Naeva couldn't suppress a smile either, though she winced as her lip stung.

“Oi! Guillaume!” 

Turning to look at the door to the arena, she saw a pair of men striding towards them- both looking drastically different from one another. The one on the left seemed young and was dressed more shabbily, like a commoner, while the one on the right was taller and older looking, with a regal way about him given the olive green coat he wore. The former waved in their direction, as though he didn't already have their attention. Naeva raised a brow and glanced warily at her friend. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Thomas! Jean-Claude!” He yelled in response. “Get over here you two and come meet our new Sister!”

The pair of men ambled over, their gazes fixed on Naeva now. She glared at Guillaume for forcing her into the spotlight, but did her best to force a smile onto her features as his friends approached.

The one dressed in a tawny hood and a dirty shirt that must have been white at one point had a broad smile plastered onto his face as he came up. Kneeling in front of her, he took her hand and brought it up to his lips, planting a kiss there in a sloppy imitation of a typical lord greeting a lady. Naeva couldn't help it, she giggled. The gesture, however sweet, was unwelcome.

“ _Enchante, mademoiselle_ ,” he said, his tone flirtatious. Keeping her smile polite, she breathed a snort and slid her hand out of his. The man in the green coat who had stepped up alongside his companion smacked him upside the head.

“ _Imbécile_ ,” he muttered disdainfully as the younger Assassin threw his hands up in disbelief. Greencoat extended his hand respectfully and Naeva accepted it, giving it a firm shake. The man smiled amicably at her and nodded once.

“Naeva, these are Thomas,” Guillaume started, gesturing to the younger man and then pointed to the man she was shaking hands with, adding, “and Jean-Claude.”

“ _Enchante, Mademoiselle de la Serre_ ,” the latter said, bowing. Thomas straightened up and gave her a two-fingered salute accompanied with a wink.

“It's not often we get a new Sister,” he commented, “nice to have you around.”

“Sorry, _Monsieur_ ,” she replied, folding her hands demurely in her lap. “I'm pleased to be welcome, but I'm afraid I'm not looking for what you're offering.”

Guillaume swore in surprise under his breath and Thomas rather obviously feigned a look of shock and offense. Jean-Claude for his part looked at his friends and said, “I like her. I like her very much.”

Her axe-wielding friend shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “It's a rare woman who can stand up to your advances, Thomas,” he chuckled. Said Assassin shrugged.

“So she's special,” he stated, “doesn't mean we can't be friends, does it?” He glanced down at Naeva and offered his hand congenially like his friends and she took it, gripping and shaking firmly. 

He smirked knowingly. “I see Gil’s been giving you the old one-two,” he observed gesturing at her face, which was certainly bruised up by now. She lifted a hand to her chin and winced slightly at the pain.

“Feel like I got more than that,” she said a bit sullenly. Guillaume laughed and reached forward to clap her on the back.

“She did well for her first day in training. She has almost no experience, but she picked up the stance just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. Thomas and Jean-Claude nodded along with his praise approvingly. 

“High commendation from the likes of Gil,” Thomas said, folding his arms across his broad chest, “wish I’d done as well on my first day.”

“I keep forgetting that a lot of you weren't born Assassins,” she stated, looking back and forth between her new acquaintances. Jean-Claude shrugged.

“Well, none of us three were born in the Brotherhood, but there are many around here who were,” he informed her, “it's just a matter of asking the right people.”

Naeva nodded and the group fell into silence for a moment. Thomas, however, who seemed incapable of remaining still for longer than a few seconds, began jogging his leg before he snapped his fingers. “Ah! Perhaps _petite mademoiselle_ would join us for dinner this evening?” he inquired, his large blue eyes reminding her of a puppy. Against her better judgement she smiled at his hopeful words. “It can get rather lonely in the dining hall for initiates who’ve just arrived.”

“He is right about that,” she conceded, looking up at Guillaume for his input in this matter. The older Assassin nodded. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“You would be welcome to join us, Naeva, but the choice is yours,” he stated, Jean-Claude backing him up with a curt nod of his own.

“Well, if you all really don't mind,” she replied, rubbing her hands together somewhat anxiously, “I'd be happy to join you.” Thomas grinned and looked as though he were about to whoop in excitement, but Jean-Claude’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from doing so.

“In which case, you should probably go get cleaned up and change your clothes. We’ll meet at the dining hall in half an hour,” Guillaume stated, extending his hand out to Naeva to help her up from her seat. 

“I don't have anything else to change into. As far as I'm aware, these are the only robes I have,” she stated glancing down at the dirt-streaked coat and trousers that had been clean when she'd received them the previous morning. “I suppose I could wear my old clothes, but I haven't had the time to was them yet.”

“The seamstresses took you measurements, no?” Jean-Claude inquired. Naeva thought for a moment, remembering one of the kind middle-aged ladies who had measured her height and sizes before scribbling something down on a piece of paper before hurrying off and returning with the clothes Naeva was wearing. She nodded.

“I suppose they did,” she replied. 

“Then there will be clothes waiting for you in your room. In case you haven't picked it up yet, our lovely seamstresses don't get the chance to dress young ladies such as yourself very often. Since most of the Assassins here are men, practicality rules, so they’re likely thrilled to be able to dress you,” he concluded.

“They work that fast?” Naeva asked, feeling almost incredulous. She’d just been measured yesterday. It had taken days if not weeks for her family’s tailor to make whatever garments they had required from him, and he had worked with a team of people in his shop to do so. From what she could remember, Naeva had only seen two women working in the candlelit room where she’d been fitted for her robes. And there were _how_ many other Assassins they needed to see to? “How do they manage?”

Thomas shrugged. “No one really knows,” he said, “Regardless, they are well compensated and greatly admired for their work.”

“That said,” Guillaume interjected before Naeva could ask any more questions, “you still need to go wash and change. We’ll meet you at the dining hall in half an hour.”

“ _Oui, monsieur_ ,” she replied, bowing her head slightly before turning on her heel and heading for the doors of the training hall.

She looked at the other training Assassins as she passed them, seeing the truth in Jean-Claude’s earlier words. There were no other women in the training hall currently. She’d been grateful that none of the men had stared at her when she arrived, or looked at her in a way that she might’ve considered lecherous, at least that she noticed. Her overall impression of them had been far more honorable than any Templars she had ever met in her life, though they were still wary and standoffish, likely because of her background. The ones she _had_ met were such real people, the complete polar opposites of the men and women she’d met among the Templar Order. It was all so different from what she was used to.

Arno would have fit in perfectly here.

Ducking her head, she hurried to her room. Now that the thought was in her head, she couldn’t keep her memories of him out of her mind. Since her induction, that moment her mind had dredged up of them sitting together outside her mother’s chambers and holding hands, a broken soul offering help to a breaking one, had replayed in her head a thousand times. She missed Arno. She missed him so much it hurt. She knew it was the loss of their friendship more than love that made her feel that way- she had grown up in the side by side with him. She couldn’t stop thinking about him rotting away in the Bastille, framed for a crime he didn’t commit.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Not yet at least.

Perhaps one day she might be able to petition the Assassin Council. Mirabeau had been on her side at her initiation, maybe he could be persuaded to let her infiltrate the Bastille to rescue Arno. It was a long shot, and she was nowhere near the skill level she would need to be in order to pull off such a mission, but it was a goal. Perhaps if she learned quickly enough, she might be able to save Arno while he was still in good health with his sanity intact.

Reaching the door where her room was, she paused. This was the tricky part. Of course, absolutely everything just _had_ to be different, to the point where she couldn’t simply walk through the door into her bedroom. No, of course not. Kicking the door, it swung up and in, rather than simply turning to admit her. Bracing a hand on the heavy wood of the board, she looked down cautiously at the nicely-furnished pit that was her new quarters, a ladder extending beneath her feet. She hated this part.

Cautiously, she stepped down onto the first rung of the ladder, and then the next- careful not to drop the door on her head as she descended. Why, oh why, did the rooms have to be _even lower_ than the Sanctuary itself? Yet another thing she had have to become accustomed to: the way the Assassins seemed to have a natural predilection for literally going to ground. She had chosen this life, and she’d better learn to accept all of it if she ever wanted to get where she needed to go. 

Steaming hot water awaited her in the clawfoot bathtub, though, so that was a familiar comfort at least.

As she washed and changed, she considered how she might go about asking Guillaume if he would consider teaching her more, or faster. Get her past the basics and into the more complicated techniques that would help her to become a better Assassin more quickly. However, she doubted the older man would allow it. He firmly believed she was where she needed to be at the moment, not going too fast just yet, though her split lip said otherwise. She grimaced when she it saw in the mirror, the area around her mouth starting to bruise slightly.

Turning to the armoire, she pulled out one of the waistcoats and shrugged it on. The fabric was heavier and a bit stiffer than what she was used to, but she supposed it was wise. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the material was thick enough to prevent a knife or bullet from doing too much damage if it wasn’t wielded with a great deal of force. Regardless of practicality or fashion, it was much more comfortable than a corset in her opinion. She wondered briefly if female Assassins wore waistcoats as a replacement.

Pulling on a dark grey coat over her much neater-than-before ensemble, she tugged her hair out from under the collar and examined her appearance in the floor-standing mirror she had been given. With her split lip and boyish clothes, she looked nothing like the daughter of the Templar Grandmaster of the Parisian Rite. With her facial injury, she looked more like one of the street people she’d been brought up to avoid. She looked like an Assassin.

‘ _That’s the idea, idiot_ ,’ she thought to herself before turning away from the mirror and hoisted herself up the ladder, pulling on the rope that hung alongside it that opened the door above her. Once through the door, she broke into a fast walk. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late.

Mulling over her plans to save Arno from his fate had taken up more of her time while she’d been washing up than she cared to admit. If she told him, she didn’t doubt that Guillaume would understand, but they’d only been friends for a couple days. Never in her life had she ever fully trusted someone that quickly. Righting her hood as she rushed down the dormitory hallway, she pushed through the large door and entered the first intersection point. She stopped short and looked around, trying to remember the way to the dining hall with the instructions one of the other novices had given her. Her internal compass hadn’t quite gotten its bearings, but she remembered the instructions quickly enough.

‘ _First, right out of the dorms. Second, go straight until the third hall on the left. Third, go straight down the tunnel to the open doorpetite dame_ ,” he jabbed, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. Naeva sighed, still trying to catch her breath.

“Yes, well, it’s rather long walk from the dormitories to here and I’m new,” she replied, drawing herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very much. “I got lost.”

Guillaume threw his head back and laughed. “You say it with such pride,” he wheezed, reaching up to wipe at his eye. Naeva frowned, bemused. “Everyone is mortified on their first few days in the Sanctuary, getting turned around at every corner. I’ve even witnessed some people walk into walls-”

‘ _So that does happen_ ,’ she thought.

“-But you. You carry yourself with such dignity _petite dame_. It may be because you were raised as nobility, but you are not so prideful that you do not admit your fault. You admit you were lost,” he finished.

“Well wouldn’t anybody?” she asked, walking away from him and into the dining hall to try and find Thomas and Jean-Claude. Her eyes widened at the sight of all the neutral and dark colors littering the room. It would be nearly impossible to find them.

“You would be surprised. Some of the men I’ve trained are not so forthcoming with their failures in three years than you have been in three days,” her friend replied, catching up with her. “They’re over there.” Guillaume lifted his hand and pointed to their right. Following his gesture, she spotted Thomas seated at the end of one of the long tables, waving at them.

She shook her head. Never would she have thought, in all her years as a Templar, that an Assassin could be quite as...happy as he was. From what her parents had taught her, Assassins were ruthless killers who did anything to get their job done, even sometimes dying for their cause which was directly at odds with the Order’s. She looked around at all the other faces, men and women talking and laughing and eating together. Naeva understood now why they were called a Brotherhood.

“Let’s go say hello and then we can get food,” she said starting off towards her two new friends spot. The dining hall was nearly packed out, but Thomas and Jean-Claude seemed to be guarding the seats they had saved for her and Guillaume doggedly.

“ _Mademoiselle_ Naeva,” Jean-Claude greeted her when she slid into her seat across from him. “Thomas was afraid you wouldn’t show.”

“Terrified the newest lady in the Sanctuary had turned her nose up at him, I’m sure,” Guillaume mused as he sat down beside her, the smirk on his face giving away that he was teasing Thomas.

Naeva chuckled. She could see Thomas frowning under his hood. “Regardless of intention, it was very kind of you to invite me,” she said with a smile. She watched as his cheeks darkened underneath his scruffy excuse for a beard.

“That wasn’t my intention,” he muttered. Jean-Claude nodded sarcastically.

“Right,” he drawled. “And I’m King Louis’ pet monkey.”

“I’m going to go get my dinner,” Naeva said, excusing herself from the table as Thomas turned to his friend and opened his mouth to start an argument.

~oOo~

“...And then, I’m watching this all from a window mind you, I see him leap off the wall and land _right_ in the middle of the three dogs,” Naeva finished sitting back in her seat as the three other Assassins laughed at her tale. Well, technically it was Arno and Elise’ tale, but she’d watched their great escape from the apple orchard unfold from the window of their house, which was incidentally next door to the orchard they had tried to steal from.

“Tell me,” Guillaume started, leaning forward on the table, “did your friend survive those hounds? How did he ever get away?”

“He got away fine,” she replied, chuckling at the memory. “All I remember seeing is him running like mad towards the house with those nasty creatures biting at his heels.” She shook her head, recalling the sheer terror on her friend’s face as he came charging up to the back door of their country estate, trailing apples, and raced inside.

“Lucky fellow,” Thomas commented.

“Whatever happened to your friend, Naeva? Is he a Templar?” Jean-Claude inquired. Perhaps the most straightforward and blunt of the group, he had been asking her questions like this all evening. She could tell there was no malicious intent behind it, like how Guillaume wasn’t demeaning when he referred to her by his new nickname for her.

“No, not that I know of,” she started, “and he’s...he’s fine.” They fell into silence then, much to her chagrin. She’d paused long enough for them to pick up on the fact that all was not right. The truth of it was that she didn’t know how Arno was. Everything she’d heard about the Bastille, just from the time she’d spent on the streets in secret with Arno, she knew it was a bad place. The Marshalcy filled it with the worst people- ranging from thieves to murderers. Arno was likely to make far more enemies than friends there.

“Is he not alright?” Guillaume asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“I-I’m sure he’s getting along fine,” she lied, plastering a smile on her face, she changed the subject. “So what about you three? You’ve heard a bit about my life, but I know nothing about you. What are your stories?”

“There’s not much to tell in comparison,” Thomas answered, crossing his arms on the table and leaning on them. “We were all born on the streets. Parents died in some way or another. Most Assassins have lost someone, you’ll find.”

“You answered for all three of you,” Naeva said, puzzled. “Do you know each other that well?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Jean-Claude replied, “We all trained together as novices.”

“Been running together ever since,” Guillaume finished.

“That’s amazing,” Naeva mumbled. “How long is ‘ever since’?”

Thomas laughed. “You’ll never get them to own to it. They’re old!”

Guillaume rolled his eyes skyward. “It’s been about seven years or so. He was nineteen when he first arrived. As you can see, he hasn’t matured since.”

Naeva laughed as Thomas drew himself up in his seat, raising one hand to point a finger at Guillaume, and sucked in a breath to deliver a rebuttal for this second attack on his dignity. However, a voice from behind stopped them all dead.

“Naeva de la Serre?”

Upon hearing her name in such an authoritative tone, she immediately stiffened in her seat. The voice was familiar, but not overly so. Twisting around in her seat, she looked up at the figure standing behind her. It was the female Master Assassin from her initiation.

“ _Madame_ Trenet,” Guillaume greeted, bowing his head in respect for the Master that stood before them. Naeva copied him, hoping that she wasn’t out of line in any way. She remembered how cool the older woman had acted and spoken at their first meeting. It had been decidedly unsettling then, and it was still unsettling now.

“Good evening, Assassins,” she addressed, lightly nodding her head in their direction in acknowledgement. “I hope I am not disturbing you?”

“Not at all, _Madame_ ,” Thomas replied, having sat back in his seat as though he weren’t prepared for a verbal assault on Guillaume. “How may we be of service?”

“I was hoping to borrow Naeva from you for a moment or two,” Trenet stated. Her tone was lighter but still left more or less no room for argument. “That is, if you don’t mind accompanying me, dear.”

Naeva stood up immediately. “Not at all, _Madame_. I’d be happy be of help to you,” she replied. For the first time, she saw the hint of a smile pass across _Madame_ Trenet’s face. The older Assassin turned aside.

“Walk with me, Naeva,” she said softly, and the younger woman scrambled out of her seat to follow obediently, turning back only once to see her new friends giving her nods of encouragement. Catching up to _Madame_ Trenet, she did her best to match stride with her as they departed the dining hall.

“Have any of the men been falling over themselves trying to impress you?”

The question shattered the silence that had spread out between them. It was quite the conversation starter, Naeva had to give her that. She laughed. Away from the eyes of the crowd, _Madame_ Trenet seemed to drop her cool demeanor.

“Fortunately, no. Thomas tried, but he was smart enough to realize he was barking up the wrong tree,” she replied. “I’m not interested in flirts.”

“That’s good to hear. I see you’ve been training with Guillaume since your arrival,” Trenet said warmly, linking Naeva’s arm with her own and guiding her down another hallway.

“He’s a good teacher. A little rough,” she explained, gesturing to her lip, “but a good teacher nonetheless.”

“ _Oui_ , that he is,” the older woman intoned. Before silence could take over once again, Trenet patted Naeva’s arm and changed the subject. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you away from your friends.”

“The question had crossed my mind, I’ll admit,” Naeva replied with a half-smile.

“I have a proposition for you,” the more experienced Assassin began. “In Marseille, I have gathered a small contingent of young women who wish to become members of the Brotherhood. All have been initiated and welcomed, but very few possess the skills they would need to survive as Assassins.

“In a month’s time, I plan on travelling to Marseille, and I would like very much for you to accompany me and join the girls there. The choice is yours, but I thought I would give you this opportunity for a chance to excel in an environment that you may perhaps find more comfortable, and dare I say it, less hectic than here in Paris,” _Madame_ Trenet finished, stopping and turning to face the younger woman.

Naeva bit her lip, unsure what she should do. “I've enjoyed learning from Guillaume,” she mused, “I think I've learned more about fighting from him in two days than all the years I spent learning how to defend myself as a child.” She paused, considering what the future benefits might be if she went with _Madame_ Trenet.

Arno.

“Would I be learning faster if I went to Marseille?” She inquired. The older woman raised a brow, searching Naeva’s uncertain green eyes with her wizened brown ones.

“The training will be no less rigorous. How fast you learn will depend on you and your capabilities alone,” she answered. “There is no quicker or easier path for learning these skills.”

Naeva nodded. “I understand.” she affirmed. Marseille would be a nice change of scenery; Paris held too many memories. From what she knew of the province, it was a sea port, and it was very unlikely for any but the least influential Templars to be stationed there if any. Perhaps that was the idea. Train new Assassins in an area where they wouldn’t be forced to fight for their lives immediately. Considering her skills, Naeva made her decision. “I think...I think I should like to go with you to Marseille.” She would be leaving Arno behind, but if she ever wanted to have even a chance of getting him out of the Bastille, alive or dead, she needed to hone her skills.

“You will be assigned missions. Your life will be no easier than any other Assassin’s,” Trenet warned. Naeva set her jaw.

“I understand,” she repeated. The Master’s face softened and she smiled at Naeva as she took the younger woman’s hand in both of hers.

“You are a very courageous young woman. I think you shall fit in splendidly with the others,” she commented. “In the meantime, continue your training with Guillaume. The more prepared you are, the better. Now go, rejoin your friends.”

Naeva bowed lightly in respect before she retraced her steps back to the dining hall and the table where Guillaume and the others still waited for her. Thomas saw her first.

“Naeva!” He exclaimed when she returned, rising from his seat. “What was that about?” He inquired as she sat down again.

“ _Madame_ Trenet has offered me a place with a group of Assassins stationed in Marseille. She says they're all novices there to learn how to survive.”

“And what did you say?” Guillaume asked, eager for her answer.

“I accepted,” she replied. “Don't get me wrong, I'm happy learning here, but I would like to learn amongst others who are at my skill level.”

“I hold nothing against you,” her teacher replied, lifting a hand to assuage her fears that she had disappointed or offended him. “I’d be more upset if you didn't accept _petite dame_.”

“When do you leave?” Jean-Claude asked, finally inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Not for a month,” Naeva told him. “ _Madame_ Trenet wants me to accompany her on the journey.”

Guillaume rubbed his hands together excitedly. “That's plenty of time to teach you more of the basics of hand-to-hand combat and give you a good start for fencing and marksmanship.”

“With how I've done in hand-to-hand, Guillaume, I don't think I want to learn fencing from you,” she stated with a bemused look. She could picture it now- not even an Assassin for two weeks and she could either die from being stabbed to death or from an infected wound. Guillaume threw his head back and howled with laughter.

“I wouldn’t be teaching you swordplay _mon amie_ ,” he said once he finally composed himself again. “Of us three, Jean-Claude would be the best for that. He’s the best swordsman.”

“And I can teach her stealth!” Thomas exclaimed excitedly.

“I don’t think you’re the best stealth teacher, Thomas,” Guillaume muttered.

“Marksmanship, then. She’ll need to know that too, right?” the younger man reasoned. Naeva laughed.

“I’d be happy to learn from you, Thomas, whatever you’re willing to teach me,” she replied, flashing a genuine smile at him.

“Then you’d best get back to your room and rest, _petite dame_ ,” Guillaume interjected, gathering up the plates and cups they had used during their meal before rising from his seat. “If you’re going to make the most of your time before you leave for Marseille, you ought to start tomorrow. Provided none of us are called away on assignment, we’ll be there to teach you.”

“ _Certainement, monsieur_ ,” Naeva articulated, getting to her feet and mock saluting her teacher. “ _Bonne nuit_ , everyone,” she declared over her shoulder as she left the dining hall once more, this time for her room once again in the dormitories. She hoped she didn’t fall down the ladder this time. The last thing she wanted now was to break a bone and halt her training altogether. On top of that she wanted to get a good night’s sleep with everything that promised to come in the morning. 

If she didn’t spend half the night lost in search of her own quarters, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Look at my little baby goin' off to destroy people...well, sort of. She's not quite at that stage yet, but she'll get there. With friends like the Baguette Boyband to help her out, where could she possibly go wrong? Arno won't be a major player for several chapters, unfortunately OTL. I'm sad I wrote it this way, but I felt her journey would be better written in spaced out bursts or milestones. Idk guys. If any of you have commentary on how this could be better, feel free to let me know. I'm always up for constructive criticism.  
> As always, thanks for reading and for kudos! I really appreciate it!
> 
> ~Translations~  
> Plumes de cheval: horse feathers (the closest equivalent idk)
> 
> Enchante: Nice to meet you
> 
> Imbécile: Idiot, moron, blockhead (whatever floats your boat)
> 
> Bonne nuit: Good night


	4. Chapter IV: Ad Undas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naeva's journey begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep sigh*  
> Before I start, I just want to apologize to you all. I said I would update every Friday and I have failed you for not one, not two, but three weeks. It's now Saturday and I am just getting around to posting chapter four OTL  
> I apologize as my schedule was loaded with multiple engagements that required my attention and I couldn't spare the time necessary to edit and format each chapter ;(O___O)  
> I am, however, back now so hopefully I'll be able to start getting back on track with this story and actually finish up writing it. Thank you so much for your patience! Please enjoy!

**Chapter IV: Ad Undas**

_Translation: To the Waves_

As the days passed, Naeva became both anxious and excited in anticipation of her departure.

Over the weeks she spent with her three teachers, she had improved her skills on all fronts. She could hold her own for greater periods of time in a fistfight with Gil (as she came to call him by association with Thomas), her marksmanship which had been previously nonexistent was also much better- she could at least hit the broad side of a target. Jean-Claude was not an easy teacher to learn swordplay from, as he believed in learning through combat. That of course meant that she received more than a few scratches, but that had simply been used by her teacher as an excuse for her to learn some medical skills.

She’d brushed up on her knife fighting as well, and was much better at aiming and throwing the small daggers she had been given by _Madame_ Trenet than anything else she’d been taught. Gil had insisted she try using them in combat- sheathed, much to her relief -and she had fared adequately. Better than she thought she would after a few years with little to no practice.

Alongside her improvement in training, her friendships also grew. She became a permanent fixture at Gil, Thomas, and Jean’s table during all meals. Occasionally, she would accompany Gil out on an errand for the Council, as he was the most careful and responsible of the trio.

Her stealth still left a lot to be desired, but she had succeeded in blending in on the city streets and stayed out of trouble.

It had been in the very least enlightening to see the city from the view of a person living in it. Even when she had ventured beyond the walls of her family’s estate with Arno, she had blocked out the discomforting sights of the poor. The people of Paris were barely even surviving, much less living. Gil, someone who had grown up among them and saw them every day, told her that it was a struggle just to make it through each day.

Men stood on platforms in the squares, calling for blood and justice on the upper class for doing this to them and the poor rallied around them. They would rebel soon, fed up as they were with the corrupt Marshalcy and the rich that funded them. Revolution was in the air- heralded by the scent of fire and gunpowder.

Not for the first time, Naeva found herself glad to have left behind her former life. She wondered how Elise would fare when the fire came to her doorstep. Could her sister fall at the hands of the repressed? The servants didn’t deserve the fate they would receive if they were found in the house as well. They were good, hardworking people who had struggled to keep their families and themselves off the streets and in good homes. She hoped that if Elise had kept them on after her departure, she would send them away in face of a threat.

She sighed, trying not to dwell too much on her home. By the following morning, she would be well away from Paris, and they would no longer be her concern. As her departure drew nearer and nearer, she became more and more uneasy about leaving. This city was her home. She had been born and raised here. Traveling to Italy for finishing school had been unsettling, but she had known she was going to come home. Marseille was different- she might not actually come back from this school.

Folding up her last shirt, she shoved it into the trunk that _Madame_ Trenet had provided for her with the rest of her meager belongings and pulled the lid down. Behind her, a knock on her door startled Naeva out of her thoughts. “ _Entrez s'il vous plaît_ ,” she called, reaching for the padlock and key on the bed beside her. The wooden door to her room from the hall creaked open and she heard people slide down the ladder as the door banged shut behind them. She turned around with a grin, looking up from her place kneeling on the floor alongside the trunk at her friends.

“I thought you three would be in the training halls,” she greeted, rising to her feet as they entered. Thomas grinned broadly at her.

“Its too quiet in that big hall without you, _minnette_ ,” he replied.

“Tom’s right,” Guillaume interjected. “We missed you at breakfast.”

“And lunch,” Jean-Claude added. Naeva raised a brow at them.

“Alright, you’ve all made it clear that I haven’t eaten anything today,” she said wryly, planting her fists on her hips. “How long past lunch is it? Do you think I have time to eat something before I go?”

Guillaume pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examined it for a moment before speaking. “Its not too late, you should be able to get something. As long as the younger novices haven’t been through yet.” Naeva laughed at his jab toward the teenage initiates of the Brotherhood, notorious as they were for practically inhaling all the food in the dining hall they could get their hands on.

“Well, I’m all packed and ready. I’ll just need to lug this to the entrance,” she explained, gesturing to the trunk full of clothes and the few other belongings she had gathered in the month since she’d become an Assassin. It struck her then that _Madame_ Trenet hadn’t told her what entrance they were using to leave the Sanctuary. “Whichever one we decide on,” she muttered.

“Another Assassin will likely be sent to retrieve it for you. They’ll take it to the entrance and then take _you_ to the entrance as well when _Madame_ Trenet sends for you,” Guillaume informed her. “Now come on. We’ve got to get some food in you so you don’t starve on your journey.”

“Wouldn’t want our best student wasting away to nothing before she even starts her training,” Thomas joked, gesturing broadly with his arms. 

Naeva raised a brow sardonically. “I’m your only student,” she replied.

Thomas shrugged. “Which makes you the best _minnette_ ,” he reiterated. She rolled her eyes.

“Come along you two. She could have to leave any minute now,” Jean-Claude said, inserting himself into and effectively ending the conversation from where he stood beside the ladder, firmly holding down the rope that opened the door. Playfully punching her youngest friend on the arm, she climbed the ladder and followed her friends out of the room.

The dining hall was clear of any other Assassins when she arrived and pickings were slim, but she scavenged up some chicken, bread, and vegetables. Enough to at least fill her stomach partially. Her group made conversation as she ate, talking about past and future assignments. The stories they had told at first when she arrived had made admittedly frightened her. She hoped that she wouldn't be forced to undertake something beyond her skill level. Gil had assured her that her first missions would be simple errands most likely before whoever her instructor was sent her into any real danger.

She continued listening to their chatter even after she'd cleared her plate. Naeva would miss this. She would miss them. Guillaume, Thomas, and Jean-Claude had accepted and befriended her so quickly. Their friend group was nothing like the cliques that had formed amongst the daughters of the Order or the high society brats she'd been forced to mingle with in her childhood. They didn't hold her upbringing against her, which had been refreshing. The other Assassins were leery of her, unsure if she really was with them.

“So Naeva,” Thomas started. She jerked her head up at the sound of her name forgetting her daydreaming. “How have your talks with the Council been going?”

“Ah yes,” she replied. “They've been going well. I never knew very much, aside from which Templars lived where and some courier drops. Other than that, all I've been able to provide is a list of names and suspects in my father’s murder.” She winced at the mention of the dead man she had loved dearly. “I think Mirabeau’s been pleased with the information at least.”

“I’m sure they appreciate any information you can give them,” Guillaume told her, his eyes dropping to the edge of her plate. Looking down in confusing, Naeva spotted Thomas’ hand inching for her slice of bread and she swatted him away.

“ _Casse toi_ ,” she warned him with a stern look. Thomas reeled back in his seat, pulling his hand to his chest as though burned and looking offended.

“Gil! Don’t tell me you’ve been teaching _minnette_ a sailor’s tongue,” he gasped, sounding mock-scandalized. Guillaume shook his head, chuckling.

“No, _une ami_ , I’ve taught her none of that. She picked that up on her own,” he replied. “Just like she’s picked up all our training as well as she has.”

The youngest of the trio did not look impressed. “Well, she’s still nowhere near our level. She can’t beat me in a fight,” he said, sticking his nose up in the air.

Naeva rolled her eyes. “I promise I’ll kick you in the _derriere_ one day, Thomas. And when that day comes, you’ll eat those words,” she challenged him.

Thomas turned to her with a sarcastic brow raised. “Just see that you don’t go around swearing in front of the ladies in Marseille. You’re from Paris- show a little class, no?”

“I’ll do my best, but I make no guarantees,” Naeva grinned, tearing apart her bread and stuffing half into her mouth.

“Novice de la Serre?”

She nearly choked trying to finish chewing and swallow her food, but turned around to face the owner of the unfamiliar voice just the same. He was a tall man, and wore a mask over his features, rendering him unrecognizable to her. “ _Oui_? What is it?” she asked once she had composed herself.

“ _Madame_ Trenet requests your presence at the _Cafe Theatre_ entrance. The carriage is ready for departure,” he informed her.

“ _Merci_ ,” she thanked him and, with a nod of his head, the messenger turned on his heel and left. Turning back to face her friends, she took in each of their faces and sighed. “I suppose I should be going then. It’s a long ride to Marseille and I’m sure _Madame_ Trenet won’t want to waste any daylight.”

“We’ll walk with you,” Guillaume suggested, rising from his seat as the others did the same. Setting her plate aside to be cleaned, Naeva followed them out of the dining hall.

“And you’re certain that my trunk’s been collected from my room?” she asked anxiously. An eye-roll from Thomas answered her question for her and she raised her hands in defeat.

Walking down the carpeted halls in silence, save for the sounds of weapons and buckles jingling as they moved, she was once again lost in her nerves for what waited for her on the other end of her journey. Would she like it in Marseille like _Madame_ Trenet thought? Would she really fit in as well as she had said she would? What if the others didn’t like her? What if they gave her the cold shoulder because of her upbringing?

A rumbling from above that shook the ceiling and caused dust to sprinkle down upon them stopped both her ruminations and her feet. Looking up in puzzlement, her brow furrowed. “What’s that?” she asked softly, turning to Guillaume who looked equally concerned. The distant rumbling started again briefly before disappearing. 

“Revolution,” was his only answer before he continued walking towards the _Cafe Theatre_ entrance. Her stomach tightened with her nerves, though now they were directed at something other than her uncertain future. What would become of Paris in her absence?

They reached the secret door that led into the restaurant and secret headquarters entrance and exited, stepping into the grey light of the outside world. Naeva headed for the nearest window, peeking out from the slats in the boards that had been nailed across it. Smoke drenched the sky, and in the distance she could hear shouting- thousands of cries all meshed together to form the cacophony of a screaming mob.

Above the faint static of the crowd, she heard a deep boom which rattled the _Cafe_ around her and her bones. “Cannon fire,” she heard Jean-Claude whisper.

“The people are rebelling,” Thomas stated.

‘ _I can’t leave now_ ,’ she thought. ‘ _Not when there’s such turmoil here_.’

As though he’d read her thoughts, Guillaume was at her side in an instant, wrapping his strong hand around her wrist. “Naeva, it’s time to go,” he said, his voice taking on a stern edge she hadn’t heard him use but that sounded vaguely reminiscent of her father. Nodding, she followed him as he guided her outside to where _Madame_ Trenet stood outside with three other Assassins that she didn’t know beside a carriage with its doors open.

“Ah Naeva,” the older woman said when she noticed the younger’s approach. “I was hoping you’d make it here soon.”

“I am here now, _Madame_ ,” she answered with a respectful bow. “Are we to leave now?”

Trenet nodded. “I have something I need to speak with Guillaume about, but please get in the carriage and I will be with you momentarily,” she explained.

Naeva nodded in acquiescence. “ _Oui, Madame_ ,” she said, making for the carriage. Climbing inside, she sat down and smoothened out the short skirt she wore over her breeches and waited, watching as _Madame_ Trenet conversed with her friends.

A moment later, after some words were exchanged quietly, the Master Assassin approached the carriage, but instead of climbing inside, she closed the door. Naeva scrambled to open the door, but she held it shut. Opting for the window, Naeva yanked down the panel and looked at _Madame_ Trenet questioningly. “Are you not coming with me?”

The Master gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry Naeva, but due to circumstances I cannot control, I must remain here in Paris for now,” she answered. The younger woman’s brow furrowed again.

“What circumstances? What’s going on?” she asked, worried that it would be best for her to remain where she was and fight.

“The revolution has begun. The people are storming the Bastille and we Assassins must be prepared to fight in the chaos that is sure to follow,” the older woman informed her.

“The...Bastille?” she whispered. 

_Arno!_

Frantically, she tried to open the door, but found that _Madame_ Trenet had locked it from the outside. “Please let me out, _Madame_! I need to get to the Bastille! There’s- There’s someone in there very dear to me! I have to- Please!” She stretched her arm as far as it would go, reaching for the lock, but it was no use as the Master grabbed it and pushed her back into the carriage.

“No, Naeva. You must go to Marseille now! I fear if you do not, you will not get another chance to do so!” she replied, her voice raised as though volume would put some sense back into the younger woman. Tears pricked Naeva’s eyes. “Be safe on your journey. I will meet you in Marseille soon.”

Naeva didn’t know how soon was soon, but all she cared about at the moment was the fact that Arno could be in serious danger- deadly serious if the sound of cannons was anything to go by. Her friends approached the window.

“Please be careful,” Guillaume muttered. “I wish you a safe journey, _petite dame_.”

“ _Au revoir_ ,” Jean-Claude added, “and _bonne chance_.”

Thomas elbowed his friend in the ribs, offering her an encouraging smile that for once she did not feel. “This won’t be goodbye. It’s only a farewell for now,” he said. “You can’t stay away forever. It’ll only be a matter of time before you come back to us.”

That made Naeva smile, and she swiped a tear from her eye. “I promise I’ll be back, you three. But what will you do?”

“Right now, we go to fight,” Guillaume told her somberly. “One of the Masters is in the Bastille and we must find him and bring him back to headquarters safely. After that, who knows.”

Naeva bit her lip. “Please be safe. I don't want to return and find one, or worse all three, of you missing.”

They nodded in unison. “We’ll be here, _minnette_ ,” Thomas assured her with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You just come back to visit, alright?”

“ _Certainement, monsieurs_ ,” she replied. Guillaume struck the side of the cab and the driver, presumably another Assassin who knew the way, signaled the horses to get moving as her friends stepped back. With a wave of farewell, she sat back in her seat and watched their figures first grow smaller and then disappear behind a wall as they drove out of the _Cafe Theatre_ courtyard.

And she was on her way.

 

~oOo~

The journey to Marseille took a little less than five days, and they arrived at the sea port in the evening, just as the sun was reaching the most dramatic point in its descent. Naeva couldn't find the words to express how good it felt to get out of the carriage and stretch her legs after hours upon hours of sitting.

Her driver, whom she had learned was called Gerard, had last stopped shortly before midday for a meal along the road. They had stopped and put together a meal of bread and cheese and the remaining fruit they had left in the basket _Madame_ Trenet had sent with her. She found Gerard’s company to be enjoyable for the few days she spent with him- he was a good conversationalist and kept his mind on his job the majority of the time which eased her nerves about traveling alone with him. He often talked about his daughter to her and how he hoped that she was doing well where she was stationed in Toulouse. They made conversation about their families and where they had come from and by the time they reached Marseille, Naeva counted him among her friends.

When the carriage at long last rolled to a stop, she stretched and pushed herself from the seat, rubbing her backside to get some feeling back into it. The door clicked open beside her and Gerard offered his gloved hand to help her down the steps. “ _Merci_ ,” she she said as she reached the pavement below. Looking around, she gazed at the view from where she stood. The smell of sea salt filled her nose as she breathed in the ocean air. The docks of Marseille and the harbor spread out before her, bathed in unreal colors from the sunset.

“This way, _mademoiselle_ ,” Gerard said, gesturing for her to follow him. Tearing herself away from the view, she trailed after him as he led her to the door of the shop they had parked in front of. 

The sign above the opening said that it was an tea shop. It looked normal enough, certainly nothing like the rundown mess that the _Cafe Theatre_ was. It looked pristine and presentable, nothing like any other front the Assassins used in Paris.

Opening the door, Gerard stepped inside. “Oi, Eduard!” He shouted into the shop. Naeva was sure that some of the glass trinkets on the shelf by the door rattled. Shutting the door behind her gently, she turned back around to step inside fully. It was dark in the shop, and her nose was instantly assaulted by hundreds if not thousands of different scents. Some were herbal and sharp while others were flowery or sweet. It wasn’t a tea parlour or cafe like she had visited in Paris throughout her childhood, merely a place where tea could be bought or sold evidently. It struck her that she had never known such a place existed. It seemed stupid now to think that tea just miraculously showed up in a cafe or house.

“Gerard, how many times have I told you. Please don't shout when you come on a slow day! I don't expect you and therefore you give me a terrible fright every time you turn up,” an indignant voice from the back of the shop said. Naeva turned to focus on who had spoken and saw, behind a counter, an annoyed looking older man with hair that looked like it had long since turned gun metal grey and was now whitening. He glared at Gerard as the other man, younger by comparison, chuckled, his shoulders shaking with mirth. 

“You know you missed me, Ed,” he said, spreading his arms wide as though ready to accept a hug from the man behind the counter. Eduard, as she believed his name to be, was having none of it and crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the man.

“Yes, but God only knows why,” he grumbled. “You were expected tomorrow, brother. What brings you here a day early”

Gerard turned to look at her with a smile and gestured in Naeva’s direction, drawing the man’s attention to her. “I brought Novice de la Serre with me, as promised, but I also bring news from Paris.” Edwards scowl had lessened since acknowledging Naeva, but reappeared infused with concern upon hearing about Gerard’s second delivery.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“Revolution,” Gerard replied, as though that were the only word to describe it. Naeva wasn’t sure there _was_ another word to describe it. “The people have risen against the King and Marshalcy. It is unknown to us whether they were successful or not.”

Eduard looked away and sighed. Shaking his head, he glanced up at them again. “We won’t know anything more until _Madame_ Trenet arrives, will we? I’m assuming she isn’t with you,” he stated. Naeva shook her head.

“She ought to be along soon. Within a few weeks, I’d wager,” Gerard answered before she could even open her mouth.

‘ _A few weeks?_ ’ Naeva thought. ‘ _I’d hoped she meant a few days._ ’

However, she sighed and kept her mouth shut on the matter. She had mostly outgrown what remained of any traces of entitlement she’d had before becoming an Assassin, but every once in a while something happened that made it flare up again.

Her sigh drew Eduard’s attention back to her. “You’re Trenet’s _protège_ then I presume?” he inquired. Naeva nodded.

“That I am,” she replied. “We were meant to travel here together, but she was unable to accompany me.” That was the long and short of it, she supposed. The corner of Eduard’s lip turned up in a smile and he stepped around the counter to approach her. As he drew nearer, she could see he did not stand quite as tall as most other men- perhaps only one or two inches above her -but he walked with the same calculated grace as all the other Assassins she had met.

“ _Excusez moi, mademoiselle_ ,” he said, offering his hand for her to shake, “I did not introduce myself. My name is Eduard Devereaux. I run the Marseille bureau, and this tea store.” Naeva bowed respectfully.

“I thank you, Master, for your hospitality. I admit I feel a bit lost here on my own,” she expressed with a smile. _Monsieur_ Devereaux smiled kindly at her and jerked his head in the direction of a corridor opening set into one of the back walls.

“The tea shop is, of course, just a front, and like the Paris bureau, we have an underground passageway that will take you to the establishment you will stay in. Just follow these directions,” he explained, passing her a scrap of paper with directions scribbled onto them, “and you’ll get there fine. When you’re there, look for Hugo. He’s the training overseer unless _Madame_ Trenet visits. Find him and he and the other girls will assist you.”

“ _Merci, Monsieur_ ,” she replied with a smile. Turning to Gerard she bowed lightly in thanks. “ _Au revoir_ , Gerard,” she said, and he gave her a smile and quick two-fingered salute in return. 

Glancing down at the paper, she started down the corridor, hoping it wasn’t pitch black in the hall so she wouldn’t get lost.

 

~oOo~

_Monsieur_ Devereaux, when giving her the directions, had neglected to mention just how long the walk would take.

She had been beginning to wonder just how deep into the port city the place where she was to stay was from the tea shop at the docks when she finally reached the place specified by the directions on the paper slip. Naeva had hurried down two more corridors and climbed a ladder before she reached a trap door which opened upward to reveal what looked like an armory. Maps lined the walls and weapon racks and tables with papers strewn across them covered the perimeter of the space.

However, there was no one else present in the room. Climbing out of the hole in the floor, she headed for the entrance to the armory, opened the door there, and prayed she wasn’t about to enter another hallway. She groaned when she discovered that to be the case.

Still, it wasn’t a dark hallway, closed off from the world. Rather, it seemed more like a wraparound balcony than anything else. Stepping out from the doorframe, she ambled to the edge of balcony and leaned over the rail to look down. Naeva knew she had to be on the first floor- she’d just been underground -but looking down, she saw a training pit much like the hall in the Paris headquarters where Guillaume had trained her for martial combat.

What was in the training pit, though, that was what caught her attention.

Fifteen, perhaps twenty Assassins stood in jagged rows, all practicing certain movements in sequence as a man paced back and forth in front of them, shouting commands. It was quite dark, but beams of light speared down from the ceiling, brightening the space. She looked up to see a the roof over their heads was completely flat, but there were windows spread out in the surface to let the sunlight in. Looking back down briefly at the Assassins gathered in the training pit, she glanced back and forth along the balcony and spotted a stairwell.

She hurried down the hall and stairs, hopping off the last two steps and crossing the training floor. The loose gravel crunched beneath her boots as she approached the Master- Hugo, _Monsieur_ Devereaux had said.

Stepping up behind him, she cleared her throat. “ _Excusez moi, Monsieur_ ,” she began. “I was told you could help me.”

The man turned to look at her, one eyebrow lifted in question before realization seemed to dawn on him. “Ah, you must be Novice de la Serre. You’re a day early, if that’s the case,” he said, a welcoming smile splitting across his features. She nodded in affirmation, curtseying slightly in respect.

“Very well then. _Mademoiselles_ , training is done for now. Dismissed,” he called to the group behind them. Naeva turned to look at the figures as they eased out of their positions and mingled with one another. “I would assume you need someone to show you to your quarters, then, Novice?”

“That I do,” she replied.

“Very well, but first I must ask, where is _Madame_ Trenet?” he inquired.

“Due to circumstances in Paris, she could not come with me. She said she would be coming soon, but I’m not quite sure what that means to her,” Naeva explained. “The Revolution has begun.”

The other Assassin’s eyes widened. “So it has happened,” he muttered. He stared at the gravel between their feet for a long moment before he shook himself and he looked over his shoulder at the dispersing group of young women. “Melanie! Would you please come here a moment?”

Naeva followed his line of sight and watched as a tan-skinned girl in a forest green coat jogged up to them, stopping beside the Master. 

“Yes, sir?” she inquired. “What do you need?” Naeva’s eyebrows shot up. Not for the first time, she was happy for her upbringing, as she identified the girl’s accent as Spanish. The girl glanced at her, scrutinizing her with dark brown eyes as though she were perhaps a threat to be assessed.

“Melanie, this is Naeva de la Serre. She is a Novice here to train- sent by _Madame_ Trenet just like you. Would you mind showing her to the room that has been set aside for her?” he asked. The girl nodded her assent and then, looking at Naeva, jerked her chin in the direction of the stairwell she had just come down.

“Come along then, I’ll show you around,” the woman said, her voice clipped. Naeva hurried to keep up with her, and did her best to match stride with the Spanish girl. As they climbed the stairs to the first floor where Naeva had been previously, she opted to ask her questions it seemed. “So where are you from?”

“Paris,” Naeva replied, shortly trying not to waste too much breath on explanation.

“You born an Assassin? Or did you join up recently?”

“Joined up.”

“Ah,” she sighed as they reached the top of the stairs and started walking down the hallway. “Will you be behind then?”

“I hope not,” Naeva answered, feeling a bit irked at her last subtle jab. “I had good teachers.”

The Spanish girl turned to throw a smile at her over her shoulder. “You don’t pay attention to people trying to get a rise out of you. Can’t tell if that’s good or bad, but for now you’ll fit in just fine,” she told her. Naeva wasn’t sure what to think.

Rounding a bend, her guide stopped in front of a door and whirled around on her heel to face her. She stuck her hand out in front of her toward Naeva for her to shake. “I’m Melanie, by the way, in case you didn’t catch that from Hugo down there. Melanie Vasquez. Though you can call me Mel, if you like.”

“Naeva,” she replied, taking the girl’s hand and shaking it firmly. She had a strong grip. “Naeva de la Serre.” Mel scrunched her face up as though she’d smelled something awful.

“That sounds like a title. Were you someone important in Paris?” she asked. Naeva shrugged.

“Not me. My father was, though. And my sister,” she explained. “But not me.”

“Ay… Sounds like you went through worse than the usual trials of a younger sibling,” Mel commented, planting her hands on her hips and watching Naeva sympathetically. She decided to change the subject.

“You’re from Spain, aren’t you?” she inquired, and Mel nodded in response. “Where are you from?”

Her companion smiled broadly. “My family lives in Madrid. I decided to strike out on my own a couple years back. _Madame_ Trenet found me about three months ago and I’ve been here ever since.” Her eyes shifted to the door they had stopped in front of. “Anyway, this is your room,” she stated, opening the door and striding through.

Trailing after her, Naeva looked around at the space. It was more than enough for her to live out of, and graciously appointed with a bed tucked into the corner, a desk underneath a window, an empty bookcase, a bathtub, changing screen, and armoire. All in all, it looked very comfortable. Leaning around the bookcase, she spotted a small sitting area with one chair set before a darkened fireplace.

“This is too much,” she breathed. “This can’t be for me.” She heard Mel breathe a laugh behind her.

“ _Madame_ Trenet gives the best to her apprentices,” she said, as though she were speaking from experience. Naeva turned to look at her questioningly.

“Her apprentices?” she asked, unsure what the other girl meant.

“ _Sí_ ,” she replied. “I’m assuming she asked you to come here to join her ‘private group of young women’.” Naeva nodded.

Mel raised her eyebrows briefly to make her point. “She teaches us herself when she’s here. Much of the time we learn from Hugo, but she teaches us the finer points of assassination and stealth.”

“She divides her time between here and Paris?” Naeva inquired.

“She tries to. We’re her personal pet project,” Mel answered, watching as the newcomer’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Don’t you feel special?”

“I’m not sure what I think,” Naeva said. “I suppose I did come here to learn. I don’t know what I thought before.”

“I was surprised too when I found out that I was going to be one of the personal apprentices to one of the Masters,” her new friend replied. “You’ll get used to it though. No one will treat you any different because of it.”

Naeva gave Mel an appreciative smile. “Thank you. It’s good to hear from someone who’s lived it for a while.” Her companion shrugged.

“Hey, it’s what I’m here for. All I know is that it terrified me when I first found out,” she said before jerking her chin at the door. “Now let’s head out. I want to show you around the rest of this place. Don’t worry about your bags or you trunk, Eduard will have them taken care of.” Naeva’s eyes widened- she’d completely forgotten about her things. To be fair, it had been a five day carriage ride and she’d had other things on her mind when she arrived.

Shaking her head at herself, she followed Mel out of her new room and down the hall.

It dawned on her then that, not only was Marseille an opportunity for her to become a skilled Assassin, but it was also a fresh start.

Taking a deep breath, she resolved to make the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our little Assassin is beginning to spread her wings. She really will next week (hint hint).  
> Anyway, I hope you liked it and that you guys can forgive me for being...disgustingly late in posting this chapter. I feel like the first few chapters are a bit repetitive but as she grows in skill, things change and get more interesting.  
> Huge thanks to everyone who's given this story kudos and those of you who commented! I really appreciated the assistance with the language, not just as a writer but also as someone who is interested in learning to speak it.  
> From what I gathered from a cursory glance over the chapter, the translations still remain pretty obvious or self-explanatory...but if anyone needs help just let me know and I'll add the translations (hopefully the right ones) to the note here.  
> See you next week!


	5. Chapter V: Alis Volat Propriis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating early in the day is nice. It's too bad I only think to do it when I'm super busy...

**Chapter V: Alis Volat Propriis**

_Translation: She Flies With Her Own Wings_

_Marseille  
22 November, 1789_

“What? What do you mean you’ve never done a _real_ Leap of Faith?”

Naeva ducked, whirling away beneath her friend’s blade and bringing her blade up to parry a downward strike aimed at her shoulder, their sabres clashing against one another. “I’m serious,” she panted. “The only time I’ve had to do a Leap of Faith was when I had to enter the Brotherhood’s headquarters through a hole in the floor of the _Sainte Chapelle_. I was terrified.”

“Less chatter, please, ladies. A Templar duelist won’t make friendly conversation with you while trying to murder you.” Naeva flicked her eyes over to where _Madame_ Trenet paced several yards away, watching the dueling pairs with interest.

“ _Oui, Madame_ ,” she called back. “ _Mes excusez_.”

Across from her, Mel met her gaze and rolled her eyes, her face saying she wished they could talk during the training session. Naeva grimaced in response, but deferred to their mentor and kept silent. Swinging her blade back up, she swiped at Mel, prompting her friend of several months to jump backwards. Grinning as she threw a glare at her, they continued to duel.

Time at the Marseille bureau had passed quickly for Naeva as she worked to keep her skills up in order to stay level with the rest of the group. By now, Summer had long since passed and Winter was starting to sink its claws into the town. Her freerunning had improved over the months, from practice both indoors in the training pit and out on the city rooftops. Long hours spent in hand-to-hand combat had strengthened her body and her skills, to the point where she smiled at the thought that she could perhaps stand against even Guillaume for longer than five minutes should they meet again.

Her sword fighting had likewise seen improvement, and thanks to Jean-Claude’s instruction, she had been largely on par with the other girls when she arrived. After months of daily practice, she was proud to be one of the best duelists in the group. _Madame_ Trenet had praised her for how quickly she had excelled, not fully believing it until Mel explained how long she spent training after her exhibition.

A new skill she had begun to learn was Eagle Vision. Hugo had told her that it was rare to see those without Assassin heritage display the skill, but had coached Naeva anyway, teaching her to focus herself. It had been a shock for her when she opened her eyes to a world washed in blue, with people appeared in blues and reds. Much to her embarrassment, she had yelped and fallen backwards, landing soundly on her backside.

From her mentor, she had learned the rudimentary skills required for assassination. Stealth hadn’t been her strong suit, but eventually with much concentration and weeks of practice, she could move as silently as a cat through snow. Blending came much more easily, and she had surprised Melanie on multiple occasions by popping out of a crowd and materializing at her side as though out of thin air. In turn, her friend had set loose a string of profanities in her mother tongue.

True to what Guillaume had told her, the only assignments she was sent on were little more than errands and reconnaissance. She was now responsible for swiping multiple ship’s logs, providing information to Eduard about a Templar plot taking place in a nearby town that was quickly halted by the Assassins, and delivering news of Paris from the postal office.

At this point in time, she had never actually assassinated anyone, but with _Madame_ Trenet’s return, she was certain that would be soon to change. The older woman had hinted during her visits in the last few months that she was soon to be placed in an assassination unit. It was a bit of a comfort to know that she wouldn’t be going it alone, but she was still nervous about taking on real missions.

Since _Madame_ Trenet’s last visit at the beginning of the previous month, she had added into her regime of practice the use of her hidden blade, which remained strapped to her wrist at all times. _Madame_ Trenet’s second apprentice, an English girl, had been instrumental in whatever success she’d achieved with the weapon.

That was another thing. In the middle of August, after _Madame_ Trenet had returned to Paris again, two young women arrived; effectively ousting Naeva from her position as “the new girl.” Their names were Cassandra- Cass for short -and Shona, the latter hailing from a Bureau in Belfast, Ireland, and the former coming to them from London.

They were easily brought together under the shared circumstance of having the same Mentor, and had quickly built a rapport between one another. Needless to say, _Madame_ Trenet approved of their friendships with one another and it looked to Naeva that her unit was already chosen.

Focusing on her combat, she shook her sword free of Mel’s blade and pressed another attack which was promptly blocked by her friend yet again. However, this time, once she was close enough, Naeva released her sabre with one hand for a half-second, flicked her wrist back, and stabbed forward with her- covered -hidden blade. The tip of the weapon jabbed Mel in the shoulder and she growled in annoyance at having allowed Naeva to get a hit in. The latter grinned, a bit smug in her victory, before taking up her on guard position once again.

“ _Faire halte_ ,” the Mentor ordered. Mel sighed and rolled her eyes, but both women, along with the rest of the duelists, came out of their stances and turned their attention back to the visiting Mentor.

“Novices, you are dismissed,” she addressed, her hands folded neatly behind her back. The newly mixed crowd of men and women sheathed their swords and bowed before dispersing. 

As she was replacing her sword in its scabbard, Naeva felt a presence come up beside her and she looked up to see one of the recently arrived young men standing there, watching her. She felt blush rise to her cheeks for a half-second before he spoke.

“You fight well,” he said. “I liked your move with the Hidden Blade there.”

“ _Merci_ ,” she replied with a polite incline of her head. “I try my best. Shouldn’t you have been paying attention to your partner, though?”

He tipped his head as though considering her words. “Perhaps. You were more entertaining, though, _Mademoiselle_.”

_Mon Dieu, what is happening_ , she thought, even as she quirked a brow and smirked good-naturedly. “I hope you mean my skillful use of a sword, and not my clumsily tripping over my own two feet in combat,” she replied.

He grinned and chuckled. “I don’t believe you could be clumsy if you tried,” he said. Extending his gloved hand, he introduced himself. “I’m Raphael Beauchêne.”

“Naeva,” she replied. “Naeva de la Serre.” Lifting her hand, she took his and shook it soundly. In response, he smiled and his sharp silver-blue eyes glittered.

“ _Enchante, Mademoiselle_ Serre,” he said, pausing in their handshake to change his grasp and lift her hand up to gently press his lips to her knuckles. Such a thing had happened perhaps only a few times in her life, and not once had the gesture been genuine until now. However, before she could say anything else to him or gather her thoughts, _Madame_ Trenet interrupted.

“Apprentices. Your training continues.”

Casting Raphael an apologetic look as he released her hand, she apologized and tried hard to keep from blushing. He gave her a smile and a quick wink before striding off. Naeva, for her part, struggled to get her thoughts back in order as she hurried towards _Madame_ Trenet’s position. Mel came up alongside her, a smug grin plastered on her face.

“Looks like you’ve caught someone’s eye,” her friend said in a sing-song voice. Naeva scowled.

“I have not,” she hissed in reply. “He was just complimenting my skills.” Her blush, however, and the knuckle kiss that Mel had undoubtedly witnessed said otherwise. Folding her arms across her chest, she did her best to shove thoughts of the man’s eyes and flirtations to the back of her mind so she could focus on what her mentor had to say.

The other two girls gathered around, awaiting instruction. The older woman looked from face to face as they stood about her in silence. “I could not help but overhear Naeva and Melanie discussing the fact that Novice de la Serre has never completed a true Leap of Faith, despite her many months as an Assassin.

“The time has come to remedy that,” she explained. Across from Naeva, Cass shifted in her stance and brushed her fiery hair out of her face, glancing across and asking if what the Master said was true with her eyes. She shrugged in return. It was more or less true. Trenet began speaking again and they turned their attention back to her. “Therefore, each of you will jump from the third floor of this building into the haystacks that line the western wall.”

Naeva felt her heart stop and her stomach lurch the moment the older Assassin’s words left her mouth. Sliding her gaze over to Mel, she scowled at her Spanish friend for outing her predicament. The dark haired girl cast her a lopsided grin and shrugged apologetically.

“Now go,” _Madame_ said, turning aside. “I will wait for you by the haystacks.” A secretive smile gracing her lips, their Master stepped away and left her students to their assignment.

“Well this is fantastic,” Shona muttered, planting her hands on her hips as she watched _Madame_ Trenet’s back. Sliding her gaze over to Naeva she lifted a brow. “You really haven’t completed a Leap of Faith?”

Naeva groaned. “No, for the last time, I have not. Just once in the _Sainte Chapelle_ to enter the Sanctuary, but not since then,” she replied.

“Then we’d better get movin’,” Cass stated, the optimist of the group, and started off for the stairs.

_No sense wasting any time, I suppose_ , Naeva thought as she followed her friend across the training hall and up the four flights of stairs that led to the roof.

As it was, the area where the Assassins practiced the Leap of Faith was concealed at the rear of the building, which was already located on the outskirts of the province. Eduard’s tea shop was combined with four other fronts- an import-export business, a fisherman’s tackle shop, a dress shop, and a stable directly next door. The stable provided carriage and mount rentals while simultaneously offering an inconspicuous reason for the haystacks that butted up against the building. Even with the relatively low concentration of Templars in the area, the Marseille bureau did as much as possible to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

In fact, the premise of the building itself was a school and home for women. If she wanted to leave through the front door instead of trudging through the corridors that lead to the other exits, Naeva had to wear a dress and hat in order to sell the deception. She found that changing into a corset and skirts, no matter how few layers were required, seemed to be much more of a tiresome drag than she recalled. Trousers and waistcoats had changed her.

Finally stepping out into the sunlight that washed over the roof of the compound, the group moved to the edge of the roof and stepped cautiously up onto the parapet that surrounded it. Naeva peered down at the ground through the gap between her boots. It seemed much further than approximately four stories, but the haystacks stood tall below her, extending up the wall and out into the street. It gave her perhaps more confidence than she admitted to having.

Swallowing, she took a deep breath and straightened her back, doing all she could to steel her nerves for what she was about to do. She paused to look at her friends, who all seemed reasonably unphased by their assignment. They had all done this before in earnest, having been Assassins for more than a year at least before coming to Marseille. Melanie was the most experienced, having been raised an Assassin but was held back by her father, the Mentor of the Madrid bureau.

Down below, she spotted movement and dropped her gaze again in time to see _Madame_ Trenet cross the courtyard and lean against the back wall of the stable, ready for them to jump.

It was now or never. Free-falling had been one of her greatest apprehensions since joining the Assassins, seconded only by having to take assignments where she would be required to end someone’s life.

_I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it_ , she thought, extending her arms from her sides in the same manner she had observed other Assassins use. Taking one more deep breath for courage, she closed her eyes and let the cool breeze that prevailed on the rooftops carry her forward.

Her stomach lurched as a sense of weightlessness overtook her and then vanished as gravity pulled her down. She recalled Mirabeau’s words from her initiation.

_”Are you prepared to walk the eagle’s path?”_

She might have known that meant something like this. There were undoubtedly other ways to construe his words, especially as the eagle was the emblem of the Assassins, but at the moment they were lost on her.

Naeva didn’t scream as she fell, but opened her eyes to see the ground and haystack approaching quickly. Somersaulting tightly in midair, she flipped onto her back and braced for impact.

Sure enough, what couldn’t have been more than a second later, she felt strands of hay pierce her coat and trousers to poke her in the back and legs. Her breath left her for a moment when she finally touched ground, despite having landed completely in the hay. She heard the sounds of her friends landing gently in the straw beside her and she sat up, trying to get her feet under her. The struggle took a moment, but she finally managed to stand on shaky legs and fumble her way out of the hay, brushing strands off her person as she exited into the courtyard.

Across from her, she saw _Madame_ Trenet smiling with a look of approval and...was that pride? Naeva’s heart swelled and, though her hands shook, she knew then that it was worth it. _Madame's_ approval and satisfaction were gratification enough for her. She knew she could never be perfect, but she vowed to do her best, seeing as her mentor viewed her best as enough, unlike so many people before.

Her father and mother had looked at her with love, but rarely ever with pride as neither had lived to see her truly become something. Arno had always watched her with kindness and affection, but he had no reasons to be proud of her- he was not her parent, nor her brother. Elise had almost never looked at her with much besides indifference or thinly veiled contempt, sans the last month she had spent in her company.

Most Templars never even spared her a glance.

“You’ve done well for your first Leap of Faith,” _Madame_ told her before nodding at her three other apprentices. “Go inside and get cleaned up, then meet me in my office. I have news for the four of you.”

“ _Certainement, Madame_ ,” Naeva replied with a curtseying bow. Turning back, she and her companions walked back into the compound. Her stomach fluttered. What was _Madame_ Trenet’s news? Was it from Paris? Would they be getting reassigned? A part of her hoped so. As a full-fledged Assassin, she might be able to uncover what happened to Arno after the Storming of the Bastille, as the incident had come to be called.

It seemed that no matter how much time had passed, as of yet she still couldn’t keep her heart from jumping in her chest and adrenaline rushing through her veins at the thought of something happening to him.

Pushing thoughts of Arno out of her mind, she bid her friends a brief farewell and departed from them to head for her rooms on the second floor of the compound.

~oOo~

After getting washed up and changing into a fresher set of clothes, Naeva made her way to _Madame_ Trenet’s personal offices. The halls were quiet, save for the occasional sound of a couple of the other novices laughing or chatting about something in hushed tones.

Reaching the highly detailed oak door, she knocked twice and waited for the reply of “ _Entre_ ” before stepping inside.

Shona and Mel were already there, the former leaned up against a wall with her arms folded over her chest, and the latter seated respectfully in one of the wingback chairs set before _Madame_ Trenet’s desk. Approaching her friend’s seat, Naeva crossed her ankles and propped an elbow up on the edge of the wing.

Another knock on the door signalled Cass’s arrival and _Madame_ Trenet called for her to enter. The redhead slipped through the door and likewise stepped up to the desk, a cheery smile decorating her features. Shona pushed off the wall and moved to join them lined up in front of the desk.

Trenet folded her hands in front of her on the desk and looked up at her apprentices, taking a moment to look them each in the face. “I apologize if I was perhaps overly cryptic earlier when I mentioned I had news,” she began, rising to her feet. “I believe that what I have to say will come as no surprise to you, however.”

So that knocked going back to Paris off the list.

“I have decided that the four of you shall make up your own unit,” she informed them. “You have each displayed exceptional ability, strength of character, and shown much improvement since your arrival. I believe the four of you are ready to begin accepting missions as a team.”

Though she couldn’t say she was surprised, Naeva was, admittedly, pleased that she was going to be paired with people she knew rather than another team of girls, or worse being by herself. The promise of back-up, at least for the time being, was a relief to her. From the looks her friends were giving her as well as each other she knew they felt the same. They would have each other’s backs.

_Madame_ Trenet continued. “Unfortunately, I will have to return to Paris soon. Mirabeau requires my attention in matters concerning the Revolution,” she explained. Her eyes met Naeva’s for a moment. “We’ve also been investigating your father’s murder, Naeva.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Have you found anything?” she asked, bringing her hand down to grip the wing where her elbow had rested. She knew she shouldn’t get anxious, she didn’t dare to hope.

As she thought, _Madame_ Trenet shook her head sorrowfully. “Regrettably, no,” she answered. “As of yet, it’s been a fairly open and shut case, but we’ve been working with the intelligence you provided us with, as well as that of another Assassin who was present for the ordeal. 

“Currently, we’re endeavoring to follow up on possible leads, but it will take some time before we have anything definitive, what with the Revolution and all,” _Madame_ Trenet finished. She had fought to keep her heart down, and yet still Naeva was discouraged. She nodded in acknowledgement of the Master’s words. Swallowing down her emotions, she forced herself to look steadily into _Madame_ Trenet’s eyes.

“I’m happy I could be of some assistance in the investigation. Please pass on my regards to _Monsieur le Comte_. The Council has my thanks for doing what they can to resolve this matter, especially in this time of strife,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. _Madame_ Trenet nodded once.

“You are dismissed, girls. You will receive your first assignment shortly. Until then, keep up with your training and practice the Leap of Faith,” she ordered. “I will be departing tomorrow and won’t be returning for perhaps several months this time. Be careful out there.”

Not waiting for anyone else, Naeva offered the slightest sketch of a curtsey before turning on her heel and all but running from the room.

It was Mel who came after her the fastest. She had not made it to the staircase before her friend caught up to her and cut her off. “Naeva, what’s wrong?” she inquired, dark eyes filled with concern.

“You heard what _Madame_ Trenet told us in there,” she shrugged. “It’s- It’s nothing, I promise.” Melanie frowned, and she knew that her friend had seen right through her flimsy pretense.

“Right,” the darker haired girl drawled. “You expect me to believe that you aren’t alright after hearing that they still haven’t a clue who murdered your father? Even after this much time?”

“It’s been six months since he passed, Mel,” she replied. “I should think it ought to take longer than that to solve the case. Especially since the Martialcy seems to think they already have the culprit.”

“But they don’t, do they?” she asked. “You told me once that you were certain your father’s murder was a Templar plot. That the man they arrested could not possibly have been the murderer.”

“He was not,” Naeva affirmed, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m certain of that much.” Arno had no knowledge of the Templars and Assassins and the war that raged between the two factions. She had played a part in his deception, so she ought to know. She was aware that her father had planned to coach the boy as he grew older in the ways of the Templar Order, but he had never put in the effort that he did with his daughters.

Again forcing the memory from her mind, she shook her head. “Really, though, it’s fine. I’m fine, Mel,” she reiterated to her friend. “It just...It caught me by surprise. _Madame_ ’s news that is.” Naeva brought her arms up to hug herself and looked away. It was true enough that the experience had been disconcerting, though she was certain _Madame_ hadn’t meant any harm, but she was more surprised at herself. She had expected to be left out of her father’s murder case, or whatever parts of it the Assassin’s managed to look into. Instead it seemed she was being kept apprised of events as they happened.

She would have to find the other Assassin who was providing the Council with more intelligence one day and thank him, maybe compare notes on what had happened that night.

A hand on her shoulder drew her back to reality and she faced Melanie’s concerned eyes. “Maybe you should get some rest? It might do you some good,” she said. Naeva offered a wan smile in return.

“It might,” she muttered.

Mel, despite being perhaps the harshest and most blunt of her friends, was simultaneously remarkably soft and caring. Pursing her lips, she drew Naeva in for a tight hug, which the lighter-haired woman returned wholeheartedly. Embraces were not things she had experienced overly often growing up, which made them all the more precious to her now. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.

“Go. I’ll tell the others. Will I see you at dinner?” her friend asked. Naeva nodded against her friend’s shoulder in reply, unable to speak. “Alright. Get some rest.” Releasing her from the hug, Mel pulled back and stepped aside to allow her friend to pass. Ducking her head, Naeva continued on her path up the stairs and down the hall to her rooms.

~oOo~

Resting didn’t seem to do her overly much good.

She couldn’t seem to find it in her to sleep, which was a pain now that her thoughts were occupied with her father and family and Arno. It was difficult enough to focus on her training and the teachings of the Assassins without being distracted by her memories of them.

Naeva stared blankly at the ceiling above her, the light from the small fire in the hearth dancing across it as she let her mind wander. It left the Assassin bureau and Marseille and soared back to Paris, to her home. For the first time in six months, she allowed herself to remember.

She remembered her father’s smile when she had arrived at the Estates General not long before Elise. She remembered Arno’s delighted expression when she had stopped him at the gala that night. They had both been pleased to see her; Arno because his old friend had returned, and her father because he was well on his way to being proud of the woman she was well on her way to becoming.

Would either of them look at her the same way now? Would her father turn away in disgust upon learning that his youngest daughter had become an Assassin, one of the enemy? Would Arno understand? Or would he too discard her if he did not realize her motives for becoming an Assassin? Even if he did, would he still wish to keep her friendship?

The questions plagued her mind, making peaceful rest impossible. She rolled onto her side. If she wanted to get anything done, this was not the way.

She would have to let it go, keep everything stashed away in the back of her mind. She should have the single-minded purpose of becoming the best Assassin she could be. Then and only then could she bring the plan she had started to fruition: she could try to find Arno, and bring whoever it was who murdered her father to justice.

For now, she would have to learn to be strong on her own. Granted, she had Mel, Cass, and Shona to help her, but she couldn’t rely permanently on her memory of her father and Arno. It was misguided. Inevitably, those pillars stood a chance of crumbling, and she needed something more substantial to help push her through.

She couldn’t truly rely on anyone but herself. 

She would have to learn to work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*Inserts obligatory scenes where Naeva actually does some Assassin stuff*)  
> I'm really glad I took the time to insert the Leap of Faith into the story because I had always wondered "how would a recruit with no previous Assassin heritage, who's determined to prove themselves, but also wildly unprepared react to the Leap of Faith?" Personally, as someone who is just a wee bit scared of heights, I probably would have been terrified.  
> I feel like she probably could have been a little more frightened, especially since she hasn't quite reached the level of "grit your teeth and bear it" that she's supposed to be at near the end of the story. Oh well, what is the editing process for?  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and I will see you all next week!  
> (My usual request of asking if you know any better translations still stands, and I thank all of you who kindly take the time out of your day to help me out :) )


	6. Chapter VI: Crescit Eundo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July, 1792: Marseille joins the Revolution, sending volunteers to aid efforts in Paris, and creating the French anthem of _La Marseillaise_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big surprise everyone, I'm on time!

**Chapter VI: Crescit Eundo**

_Translation: It Grows as it Goes_

_Marseille  
16 July, 1792_

“Naeva, drop!”

Acting more on reflex than anything else, the young Assassin dropped to the floor just as a bullet sliced through the air above her where her head might have been. Pushing herself up, she swept her left leg out in a wide arc to kick at her opponent’s feet. The guard toppled backwards to the ground with a strangled scream. Before Naeva could get to her feet, a shadowy blur had swept in, unsheathed her hidden blade, and run the soldier through.

“ _Merci_ , Shona,” Naeva breathed.

“Don’t thank me yet, love,” the Irish Assassin replied. “We still have to get out of here. Do you have the information?”

“I passed it to Mel before those two showed up,” she stated, jerking her chin at the pair of soldiers lying on the floor. “She and Cass looked like they had the safest way out.”

“Then let’s go meet ‘em,” the older woman said, heading for the door across the hall they had used as an entry point when they had snuck in twenty minutes past.

They'd have to move quick if they wanted to disappear without a trace, especially after that crack shot the guard had fired off. Now the Templar running this particular office would be onto them. Hopefully they wouldn't need to steal information from him for a while. Glancing both ways to check that their path was clear, she darted into the room after Shona, making a beeline for the window. 

They scaled down the two stories they had climbed up, leapt from the wall, and hit the ground running. Thankfully the early morning crowds in the town square had been larger than normal recently and the pair of young women slipped into the throng of citizens and disappeared.

Naeva ducked around men and women clamoring for justice and revolution; screaming, humming, singing. Much like in Paris three years hence, men once again stood on platforms feverishly trying to rile the crowd to action. A soldier from Montpellier was the loudest of the voices, begging for aid in the Paris leg of the Revolution. It seemed the King was making feeble attempts at quelling the people’s rebellion and volunteers were needed in order to keep control away from the army.

That was what the information was about. The Templars had caught wind of the swell of patriotism emanating from Marseille and had sent orders to crush the force that would be headed their way soon. It was her unit’s responsibility to make certain they never received those orders.

Sliding out of the crowd, she moved towards the alley they had decided upon as their rendezvous point and found Cass and Mel standing in the shadows, out of breath.

“Where's Shona?” Her British teammate inquired, brow furrowing anxiously.

“I'm here,” a voice said behind her as Shona stepped into the alley, breathing hard. Naeva exhaled a sigh of relief knowing all her friends had survived the intelligence mission unscathed. Well, mostly.

“How's your arm, Mel?” She inquired, nodding ather friend’s blood soaked coat where she had been cut by a bayonet.

“I'll be fine. I'll dress it when we get back to headquarters,” she answered. Reaching into her pocket with her uninjured hand, she withdrew the piece of paper which held the orders from the Parisian Rite. “Let's just get this to Hugo.”

She passed it back to Naeva and then held her arm, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. Taking the letter back, the French Assassin pocketed the missive and turned to look out at the crowd. The tension in the city had nearly reached a fever pitch. 

“They're going to riot soon, aren't they?” She asked no one in particular. “ _Mon Dieu_ , it's just like Paris all over again.”

“It would seem so,” Cass replied. As a group, the quartet of girls turned back and jogged away down the alley, Naeva lagging behind the rest, oddly feeling loathe to turn away from the rioting citizens. The flames of revolution were rising higher, and she wasn’t certain, but a part of her felt as though that blaze burned within her as well.

The idea of freedom, equality, unity, for the people as a whole was exciting to say the least. But her job was to protect the people- the innocent -not alter the course of history for aims that might seem good and true for a time but tarnish later. That was a Templar’s prerogative, as she had come to understand. 

_We work in the dark to serve the light_ , she reminded herself. The shadows were her area of operation, and she had accepted that fact, though a small part of her longed to step into the light if only to aid her country.

They entered the Marseille compound through the dress shop entrance, _Madame Moreau’s Boutique de mode_ , as it was empty of patrons due to the rally in the square, and hurried down into the catacombs below.

Hugo was pleased to see them upon their return, pleased that _Madame_ Trenet’s personal apprentices had returned yet again. Melanie quietly slipped away to find the doctor who could give her gauze and disinfectant. As her friend made her escape, Naeva handed their overseer the missive they had been dispatched to collect.

“Ah, you found it!” he exclaimed, accepting the envelope with a smile. “You four always get the job done. We’re more than lucky to have you here in Marseille. I’ll get this to Master Devereaux right away.”

“Do you have any idea what we’ll do with the information?” Shona inquired. Hugo shrugged and shook his head.

“Unfortunately, I do not. I must speak with Eduard about it,” he told them. “Though the reconnaissance unit has said that the soldier from Montpellier has acquired nearly five hundred people of Marseille as volunteers to bolster the forces already in Paris.”

“The citizens are restless. They will either march to Paris within the next few days, or turn this town into a shooting gallery if they are denied,” Naeva posited, folding her arms over her chest.

“I agree,” Hugo replied, pursing his lips and looking grim. “Give me some time to speak with Eduard and I will call for a meeting later today hopefully.”

The three remaining Assassins nodded and bowed to their instructor before exiting the room.

~oOo~

Just as Hugo had said, a meeting was called not five hours later as Naeva and a patched up Mel were heading to dinner.

“It never fails,” her Spanish partner grumbled. “They always have a gathering right when I’m dead tired, starving, or in the washroom.” Naeva chuckled at her friend’s annoyance.

“I agree that the timing could be better,” she said, “but I have a feeling this particular meeting will be more interesting than others.”

Mel grunted in reply.

Continuing down the hall, Naeva began to hum quietly while she let her mind wander. She didn’t realize until her companion elbowed her in the arm and she stopped. “Ouch,” she said, rubbing the spot where she as certain a bruise would form. Mel looked at her with one eyebrow quirked.

“You were humming that song from the square. The one the volunteers made up,” she stated with a mischievous smile.

Naeva shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a catchy tune.”

Opening the door to Eduard’s office in the compound, she and Mel slid into the small crowd of gathered Assassins jam packed into the space. Hanging back against the wall, she nodded at whatever familiar faces were nearby and looked around for her other teammates. She managed to catch sight of Cass’s shock of red hair as someone cleared their throat at the front of the room.

Another familiar presence materialized on her left, seemingly out of nowhere. She smiled and looked up to see Raphael as he leaned against the wall beside her. His hood was down, but she could make out the edge of an errant curl of dark hair as it hung down his forehead. He’d been sparring.

“How did the mission go, _mon chere_?” he asked. Naeva’s smile widened upon hearing the endearment. He had begun to call her the usual nicknames since they had begun courting nearly a year past. She had been adamant that they abide by the rules of courtship, if anything just for her peace of mind. They were the rules she had always grown up with, and she wasn’t too keen on breaking them. Though, a chaperone seemed unnecessary given how much time they spent in company with their friends.

“It went well,” she replied. “No broken bones. And I believe that this meeting is about the information we found.”

“Good to hear,” he intoned, taking her hand and lacing his fingers between hers. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

It was nice to have someone care for her in a way that was more than friendly. Perhaps that was what had drawn her to Raphael in the first place. He hadn’t exactly been forward, but he had made an effort to speak with her often, and displayed a deeper interest in her and her wellbeing that she rarely saw in any of her other male counterparts. It had also been a core reason why Mel, Cass, and Shona had advocated for the relationship like mad. Smiling contentedly, she settled back against the wall, letting her shoulder brush his.

“Looks like we’re all about to be let in on the big secret,” Raphael whispered, jerking his head in the direction of the front of the room. Following his gaze, she spotted Master Devereaux rise from behind his desk, the letter she and the others had successfully pinched held unfolded and aloft in his hand. He looked meaningfully at the crowd surrounding him before he spoke.

“Thanks to the efforts of three of our Assassin teams, we have managed to piece together the latest step in the plot against the Revolution,” he started, his voice filling the space. “Our scouts have brought us the latest count of citizens who have volunteered to aid in the defense of Paris from the King’s army. As of six hours ago, they numbered four hundred and sixty-seven total, and plan to march once they are five hundred strong.

“The Templars in Paris are wary of this new defense force and have dispatched orders to the rite here in Marseille to stop the citizens from marching. Thanks to _Madame_ Trenet’s apprentices, they never received those orders.”

Several heads turned to glance at Naeva. She ducked her head, avoiding their stares, however brief. Raphael gave her hand a squeeze and nudged her arm with his elbow. Flicking her eyes up to look at his face, she caught sight of the wink he sent her way. Blushing, she rolled her eyes and focused back on the meeting as their Master went on.

“However, there is still the threat of an attack on the volunteers before they reach Paris,” _Monsieur_ Devereaux continued. “As such is the case, I would like to ask for eight skilled volunteers to travel with the citizens of Marseille to protect them on their journey.”

Immediately, a great deal of hands shot up. Naeva itched to add her own to the group, but she knew she wouldn’t get picked. For now, _Madame_ Trenet was fairly adamant that she remain in Marseille, to the point where Eduard even had orders not to allow her to go to Paris without _Madame’s_ consent. It was irritating.

Still, she pushed back the urge and sighed. What could she do about it? _Madame_ only had her safety in mind when it came to returning to Paris. She hadn’t seen the older woman in about six months, and during her last visit Naeva had slipped on a mission, nicked her chin on a floorboard, and nearly gotten shot in the head. No, she wasn’t quite ready yet to enter the warzone that Paris was sure to be. She’d become more skilled since departing the city where she had grown up, but _Madame_ Trenet didn’t know that as well as she did. Besides, Raphael would worry.

Oh well. Next time, perhaps.

Focusing on her beau, she squeezed his hand and waited as Eduard selected the volunteers and then dismissed the remainder for the evening.

~oOo~

_Marseille  
18 July, 1792_

Naeva planted her hands on her hips and stared out at the crowd below her as they belted out the lyrics to the song that had become the volunteer’s anthem. _La Marseillaise_ , she had learned the tune was called. Since the previous day, she’d caught herself humming it more than a few times. She tapped her foot lightly against the roof to the beat she imagined for it. 

Footsteps hitting the roof a few meters away signalled that at least one of her friends had arrived. Turning, she offered a welcoming grin to Mel as she approached.

“Victor’s joined the crowd,” she stated when she came to a halt at Naeva’s side. “Andre?”

She nodded. “ _Oui_ ,” she replied. “Andre blended in without a hitch. I haven’t spotted any Templars around the square. They seem to be keeping clear of the people.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Mel posited, folding her arms over her chest as they continued to observe 500 plus people milling about the town’s center. Marseille wasn’t huge, it was no Paris, but it wasn’t small either. The population of the town and the surrounding province had to be over a thousand at least, though Naeva couldn’t say she knew exactly what the results of the last census had been.

It was nearly time for the volunteers to depart. She had spotted one of the men who had joined up with the soldier from Montpellier taking down names. They were doing the final count, it seemed. There had to be at least 500 people gathered.

Behind them, Naeva heard more footsteps and she turned again as Cass and Shona stepped up behind them. “James and Damian are in,” Shona announced. “Your boys?”

“All good here,” Mel affirmed.

“Excellent,” Naeva interjected. “Then we can enjoy the people’s exit without having to worry.” She glanced back at the crowd below, the tension in the air was as tangible as the scent of gunpowder rising up to greet them.

“I wonder how many of them will die,” Cass said quietly. It was a sobering statement. These were townspeople, not soldiers, no matter how far their patriotic fervor might carry them. Naeva hoped they stood a chance against the King’s army. She wished she could help.

She sighed. No point in wishing for what couldn’t happen yet. She would get her chance, one day. All she needed to do was prove to _Madame_ Trenet that she was ready. How long that would take, she didn’t know, but she would do her best to get there.

“Hopefully not many,” Shona answered the rhetorical question. “But unfortunately, that won’t likely be the case.”

“We can hope that the Paris Brotherhood is doing all it can to aid in ending the Revolution and keeping the people safe,” Naeva stated. They would certainly be doing more than the Templars, who were undoubtedly fighting tooth and nail to keep the people from rebelling. _Too late_ , she thought with a grim smile.

The four Assassins stood on the rooftop, watching and listening as the volunteers began to move out and sang _La Marseillaise_ over and over before they finally began to move out at almost sunset. Shona and Cass had departed, the former claiming she needed sleep and the latter with the excuse she had work to be done back in the compound. That left Mel and Naeva alone to view the sunset in the now quiet town.

“Stop humming,” her friend snapped. Naeva, who hadn’t realized she was humming until that moment, immediately silenced herself. “I swear, if I hear that song one more time in the next two months, I will end whatever unfortunate soul is singing it.”

“ _Merci pour l'avertissement_ ,” Naeva replied dubiously.

“ _De rien_ ,” her friend replied, causing a smile to split across her features. They continued to stand in silence for a long time as the sun sank even lower in the sky. Finally, Naeva spoke up.

“Do you...Do you think I’m a good enough Assassin?” she asked. Almost instantaneously, Mel whipped her head around to give her an incredulous look.

“Naeva de la Serre! I think you are an excellent Assassin!” she replied sternly.

“Yes but why?” Naeva asked, bringing her arms up to hug herself. “I’ve literally fallen on my face before, as well as on my _derriere_ , and Hugo says I lack focus sometimes,” she said. “I’ve thrown my whole life into becoming an Assassin. I just want to know if I’m doing a good job.”

Mel grabbed onto her shoulders and jerked her around, forcing her to face her and looking straight into her eyes. “I have watched you since you came here, a novice with little more experience than what a couple of _gueros_ could teach you in a few days,” she told her, leaving no room for argument. “And you have come so far since then. You’ve gone from a girl who panicked if the spar moved too quickly, to a woman who forces her opponent to move faster. From a novice who couldn’t hit the inside of a barn door, to a true marksman.

“I have had the privilege of seeing that transformation. You _are_ a good Assassin, Naeva. You’ve grown so much,” she finished. “Perhaps one day _you_ will come to realize that you are enough.”

Naeva smiled at her friend’s encouragement. What was she supposed to say in return? Mel had already been a model Assassin before her arrival. Maybe her technique had improved? Had her manner become more refined?

“ _Merci, mon amie_ ,” she said, leaning forward to envelope her companion in a hug. 

“Anytime, Nae. Anytime,” she replied. Pulling back from the hug, Mel gave her friend a mischievous smile. “Now. I know that _novio_ of yours is probably looking for you. Go spend some time with him! Love your man!”

Naeva blushed furiously. “ _Melanie Luciana Vasquez!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the time jumps I've been making throughout this fic aren't terribly confusing.  
> By now I think Naeva's been in Marseille for two and a half maybe almost three years (???). I forget what Arno's doing right now...probably skulking somewhere or off on an adventure with Elise without the Council's permission.  
> Also, just as a quick question for anyone who wants to answer, what do you think of Raphael? He was added- admittedly -as a last minute thread in the plot to make later chapters more cohesive and add a bit more depth to Naeva's character. I just want to know if it _sounds_ like I shoved him in there last second.  
>  Huge thanks to everyone who commented and gave kudos!! I really appreciate the notes as well as the incredibly helpful constructive criticism that some of you have given (I promise I will implement the changes as soon as I get the chance!!!).
> 
> Translations:
> 
> (The only ones I could think of being non-self-explanatory were perhaps these three)
> 
> Merci pour l'avertissement: "Thanks for the warning" (or something to that effect)
> 
> De rien: "No problem", "don't mention it", etc.
> 
> Novio: "boyfriend" (this one could very well be wrong with the amount of work it took to find it)
> 
> (I really, really, really appreciate any assistance I get for the translations, guys. Thanks so much again!)


	7. Chapter VII: Forsan Miseros Meliora Sequentur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 1793: The King is executed by the people; Arno Dorian is excommunicated from the Assassin order on 21 January for disobeying orders and failing to save the French monarch, thus helping the Templars gain the foothold they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I missed updating last week! I hope you enjoy this week's update!

**Chapter VII: Forsan Miseros Meliora Sequentur**

_Translation: For Those in Misery Perhaps Better Things Will Follow_

_Paris  
22 January, 1793_

Something hard smacking into the side of the carriage by her head jostled Naeva out of her sleep. Jerking to awareness, she brought her hands up in defense out of reflex. “ _Oi!_ ” she shouted before loosening her stance and driving a fist back into the wooden frame of the coach. Beyond, she could hear mischievous laughter and felt the carriage wobble as its driver stepped down from his perch at the back. Sitting forward, she unlatched the door and pushed it open.

She slid out just in time to see Gerard’s smile and hear the tail end of his amused cackle. “Don’t do that!” she berated him. Her words lost most of their weight, however, as she couldn’t keep herself from smiling back at the much older man, who continued to laugh at her.

“Forgive me, _Mademoiselle_ Serre. It was simply too tempting,” he said, offering a mock bow. Naeva shook her head at her driver’s humor before glancing at the building to her right. Her good mood darkened a bit upon seeing the _Cafe Theatre_ in the state it was.

The outside of the building was in a shambles- the walls stained, shutters hanging onto the windows by a thread, and roof tiles having slid from their place and onto the ground. One of the chimneys was missing. She grimaced as she stared at it, recalling the neat and presentable front it had once been four years ago.

“The Revolution has not been kind to the city,” Gerard said quietly from beside her. Naeva slanted her gaze up at him to see his mouth pursed into a thin line. In that moment, he looked older than his years. While the last four years had changed her, aided her in becoming the Assassin that she was, they had taken their toll on him.

Surprisingly, the worst stretch had been the last few months. Between missions that could easily result in her death, and helping part time to teach other Novices methods of assassination, Raphael had broken things off with her. Inhaling a deep breath for strength enough to get rid of her thoughts of him, Naeva refocused on the present.

Not for the first time since she had been commissioned to report to _Madame_ Trenet, she wondered how Guillaume, Thomas, and Jean-Claude were doing. She hadn’t been able to visit in the last four years, as she had been occupied with her training and forbidden to return. Correspondence was fairly impossible, given the need for relative secrecy between bureaus, save for word from the Council.

Touching Gerard’s arm to bring him back to the reality, she offered him an encouraging smile. “I’m going inside. I’m sure _Madame_ wouldn’t appreciate me taking my sweet time getting to her.” Her driver returned the smile and turned away to remove her suitcase from the compartment beneath his seat and handed it to her.  
“ _Au revoir, une ami_ ,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll see you in the dining hall tonight.”

“If you have no one to sit with, I’ll make room at my table,” he replied with a grin. “I’m sure there’s at least one pesky novice I can kick from a seat.”

“Please don’t,” Naeva laughed. “We’re meant to support the new generation, not bully them.”

Gerard shrugged. “Maybe some of them have it coming.”

Shaking her head yet again, Naeva tried to suppress a chuckle and walked away. “I will see you later, Gerard.”

The inside of the _Cafe Theatre_ was in much the same state of disrepair as its facade, though the entrance to the Sanctuary still worked well enough. Evidently, despite the _Cafe’s_ abandonment, the Assassins continued to use it.

The Sanctuary itself, once she reached it, was likewise much the same as she remembered- the walls lined with torches, tapestries displaying Assassin heritage, relics, and statues depicting revered Assassins. Others stared at her as she navigated the halls, trying to find her bearings in the maze of hallways. Finally, admitting that she was lost, she moved to one of the groups standing alongside the walls and asked for directions.

“I’m due in from Marseille and _Madame_ Trenet is expecting me to check in,” she explained to one of them- a young man who wore a mask over his lower face -and hoped she didn’t sound too suspicious.

“Ah, you must be one of her apprentices,” he replied. Naeva nodded. Turning, he gestured down the hall. “You’re going in the right direction. Go straight until you pass the junction at the training hall, and then go left. Continue until the next junction and then go right. After that, the council hall is straight ahead.”

Smiling, Naeva thanked him for his help and departed, hurrying down the corridor again following his directions. Left at the training hall. Right at the next junction.

True enough, she came to the imperious double doors where she had stood four years ago when she had initially joined the Assassins. Inhaling a deep breath, she used her free hand to push open one side and slid through. The courtyard room spread out before her, though this time she didn’t bother to hesitate. She had been to the Council office multiple times after her initiation to supply them with what information she could about her father’s death and the Templar Order.

She paused to look at he mural engraved into the wall which she had mistakenly believed to be a judge’s bench previously. Future encounters in the room had made her realize that the platform was in fact a stairwell. Still placed in the center of the mural on its pedestal was the heavy chalice she had taken a drink from on her first day.

Allowing herself a little smile of nostalgia, she turned aside and made her way up the carpeted stairs, stepping into the darkened antechamber that served as the Council’s office and meeting room. She rapped lightly on the door.

“ _Entre, si vous plait_ ,” came the gruff-yet-feminine voice of her Master. Naeva turned the handle and stepped into the room. Warm candlelight washed over her as she entered and curtseyed before the gathered Council of Assassins.

“Naeva de la Serre,” Master Quemar said. “It is quite the surprise to see you here.”

She bowed her head in his direction. “It is my honor to be here, Master,” she replied in her most respectful tone of voice. “Please allow me to express my sincerest condolences for the loss of _Monsieur le Comte_. Though I did not know him long, I counted him as a friend to my family and myself.”

Hearing of Mirabeau’s death almost two years past had been a shock to Naeva. No, not just his death, but his _murder_ at the hands of another Council member. She had never known Pierre Bellec, but she was sure that he had gotten whatever was coming to him for such a heinous act. Gabriel Riquetti was a good man, in her opinion, and had not deserved such a death.

It also meant that her Master, _Madame_ Trenet, had been promoted to the position of Mentor for the Paris Brotherhood. Hence why the older woman was no longer able to travel to Marseille and thus needed a messenger to bring a report on the progress of the Assassins in Naeva’s bureau to her in Paris. Because the usual messenger who’s assignment it was had been injured on another mission, Naeva had volunteered to temporarily pick up the torch.

“This council is dismissed, Masters. I would like to speak with my apprentice privately,” the Mentor ordered. The two men present bowed in her direction before stepping past Naeva and exiting the room.

A sigh from the back of the room drew Naeva’s attention back to her Master and she frowned in concern as she watched the older woman sit down heavily in the chair situated behind what had once been Mirabeau’s desk. She rested her head in one hand and shook it perhaps out of exasperation.

“Are you alright, Mentor?” Naeva inquired, moving over to the desk to stand beside another of the chairs stationed to its left.

“Please, Naeva, sit down before you fall down. You must be exhausted from your trip,” the older woman said. Doing as she was bid, Naeva set her suitcase down on the floor beside the chair before lowering herself into the seat.

“Thank you, _Madame_ , but that doesn’t answer my question,” Naeva pressed, offering what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

“I’ll be fine,” her Master replied in a weary voice. “I just have a great deal on my mind at the moment. _Mon dieu_...”

“You sound exhausted,” Naeva commented. “Have you been getting any rest?”

“It would seem a Mentor’s work is never done,” she answered ruefully. “I have paperwork and assignments to take care of, not to mention balancing the war with the Templars _and_ the Revolution. On top of all of it, just yesterday I had to permanently dismiss a promising Assassin for breaking the tenets of our creed.”

Naeva’s eyebrows shot up. “All three?”

“All three.”

“At one time?”

“Sadly, yes,” _Madame_ replied. “If they had been staggered, perhaps I could have persuaded the Council to settle on a lesser punishment, but as it was, that was not an option. He had so much potential.” 

Naeva frowned again. She had done her best to keep to the three rules she had been given. Hide in plain sight. Never harm the innocent. Never compromise the brotherhood. Three fairly simple principles. Accidentally breaking one or two of those three on separate occasions she could understand, but all three, and all at once, she couldn’t begin to fathom.

Trenet shook her head in disappointment, and Naeva silently promised herself that she would endeavor to make certain that her Master never had a reason to make that gesture because of her.

“As if that wasn’t enough, we are still short two Council members,” the Mentor continued. “I have to oversee the promotion of two Assassins at some point in the future.” Her Master sat back in her seat and sighed again, the lines in her face looking deeper than Naeva had recalled.

She had never noticed just how old everyone was, at least not until they were under such stress as they were now. It saddened her.

“I wish there was some way I could be of greater help to you, _Madame_ ,” she muttered. If only she and the others weren’t so far away. It was only a few days’ ride from Marseille to Paris, so the journey wouldn’t be too tiresome for her unit. “We could be of assistance to you if you would allow us.”

A large part of her also didn’t want to stay in a place that held so many bittersweet memories.

“It’s alright, Naeva. You and the others are right where I need you most,” her Mentor said. The younger woman sighed quietly. She would have to admit defeat in this instance. “Before I forget, do you have the report?”

“Of course, Mentor,” Naeva answered, drawing the letter from her pocket and handing it to Trenet as her Master reached over the desk to accept it.

“Thank you, _chere_ ,” _Madame_ smiled, setting the envelope aside on her desk for later viewing. “How long do you plan to stay in Paris?”

Something in the Mentor’s tone spoke of suspicion amidst general curiosity. Naeva returned her smile. “My escort has business here that he needs to take care of tomorrow,” she informed her, “so we’ll likely be leaving the day after. Even though I should like to see the city, I plan to remain in the Sanctuary for the time being. Unless I am needed for anything.”

_Madame_ Trenet chuckled tiredly. “When I sent you to Marseille, it was so you could learn the Assassin ways with others like you, but it quickly became safer for you to remain there once the Revolution began. I had hoped to shield you from the line of fire.”

“Marseille isn't exactly a backwater town. I’ve been a part of my fair share of skirmishes and suicide missions,” she rebutted. “I should think I can handle myself now.”

_Madame_ Trenet nodded slowly. “I know. It’s only that the four of you are my best students, and in a world where the worst can happen to even the best of us, I worry for you.” Naeva pursed her lips, wondering who her teacher thought of when she spoke those words. Had she had children? As far as Naeva knew, the older woman had never married and thus could not have been widowed. Did she speak of Mirabeau? That was who Naeva thought of.

Mirabeau, her parents, Arno...everyone she had ever lost. Unintentionally.

“ _Oui_ ,” she answered quietly. “I understand, _Madame_.”

They drifted into silence for a moment before Naeva spoke once more. “I should like to find my rooms now. I am more worn out from my trip than I thought I was,” she said, getting to her feet. Her Mentor followed suit, rising and stepping around the desk as the Apprentice hefted her suitcase once more. “Are my previous rooms still available, or do they belong to someone else now?” The latter seemed a very real possibility. It _had_ been four years.

_Madame_ Trenet chuckled. “No, unfortunately. Come, let’s see if we can’t find you some new quarters. It would seem that we have a sudden vacancy.”

~oOo~

Upon finding the rooms of the previous tenant cleaned out save for the sheets on the bed, Naeva had bid her Master goodnight and settled in. Wrangling her hair out of the practical braids she had pinned up the previous morning, she brushed it out and then undressed, the tub in the corner of the room filled with steaming hot water.

She took her time washing away the grime of her travels and rinsed her hair out, closing her eyes as she gently massaged her scalp. She rested in the water until it turned lukewarm and then got out, drying off her hair and toweling the remaining drips out of her hair. Dressing in a shirt and trousers, she sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the small fire lit in the hearth to comb the snarls from her hair.

It felt nice to have nothing to do. She wasn’t here on assignment, and _Madame_ had rebuffed her offer of assistance. For the first time in a long time, she had all time she wanted to sit and languish about her rooms. Hunger might drive her to draw her hood over her head and climb the ladder to the door so she could make her way to the dining hall, but aside from that she saw no reason to rush.

She paused to glance about her current room. It would surely be accepting a new tenant as soon as she left to return to Marseille as it was spacious and comfortable. She wondered who the Assassin had been previously. As with the rest of the sanctuary, the smells of sweat and gunpowder hung in the air here, leaving no trace of whoever the man had been behind.

_He certainly cleaned up after himself in a hurry_ , she thought, scanning the room for anything that might seem to be out of order and finding nothing. Everything was pristine and neat, as though no one had ever been here, sans the miniscule details that told her someone had lived here before her. A scuff in the boards, the corner of the rug flipped up, the worn edges of most wooden surfaces. 

Briefly she wondered if he was alright, whoever he was, but then stopped herself. If he had been careless or foolish enough to break all three tenets of the creed, then it was likely he was getting what he had coming to him. In her mind, the creed was a fair trade, and provided a good set of principles to follow. The Assassins provided aid and sanctuary to all those who agreed to abide by three rules. Just three. In return she was given food, shelter, clothing, and the opportunity to do something good for the world.

Her stomach growled suddenly, jolting her from her ruminations and alerting her to the nagging pain in her abdomen. She hadn’t eaten anything since that morning when she and Gerard had stopped not far outside of Paris so they could eat their food in peace. Getting to her feet, she tied back part of her hair and shrugged on her black coat before starting up the ladder. Pulling the on the rope beside her to activate the mechanism, she ducked as the door swung out and then slipped through the opening.

_I’ve gotten rather good at that_ , she thought, smirking, as she straightened up. Now all she had to do was find the dining hall.

~oOo~

She realized she had been hoping to see Guillaume, Thomas, and Jean-Claude when she reached the dining hall and didn’t see them. Her heart sank as she scanned the space, searching for the familiar trio sitting and laughing with one another, and came up empty with every pass. However, she spotted Gerard seated with a group of other Assassins when he saw her and began to wave like a madman. Grinning, she gestured for him to wait a moment and fixed herself a plate of food before making her way over. 

Gerard introduced her to the four other men sitting with him as Naeva from Marseille. Their faces lit up with recognition, to her surprise, as her escort friend had evidently spoken of her to them before.

“We hear you’re not so bad at cards, _Mademoiselle_ ,” one of them, Louis, said. “Gerard here tells us he can’t beat you at Pharaoh.”

“Is that so?” she inquired, slanting her gaze at her driver, who had the decency to at least look sheepish for gossiping about her. “I don’t know about you, but he’s never lied to me before.”

“Ehh,” the oldest one, Alexandre, interjected. “Maybe not lie, but once in a while he has the tendency to exaggerate.” 

“Do you mind if we test the truthfulness of his statement, _Mademoiselle_?” the burliest of the group, Nathan, asked, a mischievous smile lighting up his features as he removed a deck of cards from a pocket somewhere on his person. Naeva shrugged.

“What have I got to lose,” she said, pushing her plate aside to make room.

\---

Two hours and four successful rounds of Pharaoh later, Naeva laughed as Alexandre sat back in defeat, throwing his hands up in the air. “And with that, _Monsieurs_ , I do believe I have well and truly cleaned you out,” she said, feeling just a touch smug as she pulled what passed for bets at this table to her pile of “winnings”.

“You have to have cheated,” Louis muttered, holding his head in his hands and looking like he was about to have a mental breakdown. “There’s no way you could have won without rigging the game. But you were dead silent through the rounds and you never moved your bets. _How?_ ”

Naeva chuckled as she examined her fingernails. She was having more fun than she had had in ages. “Come now. It is a game of chance after all,” she drawled. “Let’s just say I had a good teacher.”

Which she had. Gambling wasn’t something she normally liked to do, most of her card games were friendly diversions to pass the time, but she'd gotten her start when Arno had let her tag along with him a few times when he went into town. Thus, by association she had picked up the rules for the more aggressive games and become quite good at them.

She hoped he was somewhere safe. Safe and living a good life, perhaps married, perhaps not. She could picture Arno both as a loving husband and father, but also as a consistently half-drunk curmudgeon with a two inch beard and permanent scowl etched on his features. She refused to let herself even consider the idea that he might be dead, whether a free man or locked away in the Bastille. Her smile waned a bit before she caught herself and cleared her throat.

“Well, _Monsieurs_ ,” she began, getting to her feet. “I believe it has gotten quite late and I am rather tired. Since we’re all brothers and sisters here, I leave this for you to sort out.” Pushing her pile of winnings back to the center of the table, she picked up her plate and turned aside with a final smile in the direction of her new friends. “ _Bonne nuit_.” Nodding at Gerard, she clapped him on the shoulder and walked away before any of the others could stop her to ask more about her skills.

Cleaning off her plate, she returned it to where she found it before setting off in search of her rooms once more. All was quiet in the halls around her and she felt quite alone, so she nearly leapt out of her skin when she felt a hand come to rest on her arm.

Whirling around, she came face to face with _Madame_ Trenet. Adrenaline pumped through her and her heart raced in her chest. Sighing in relief, she lowered her hands, which she had brought up to defend herself on reflex. “ _Mes excuses_ , Mentor,” she apologized. “I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

“Its alright, Naeva. I didn’t expect to see you about at such a late hour,” her teacher said with a likewise apologetic smile. If it was possible, she seemed even more exhausted than she had five hours earlier.

“Were you going to your rooms, _Madame_?” she inquired. “You look like you could use a rest.”

“I am,” the older woman sighed wearily. “Master Beylier has banned me from the Council room until I get a full night’s sleep in my bed rather than at my desk.”

“I can see why. It can’t be healthy to be working yourself to the bone like this,” Naeva replied as they started walking. “Mirabeau never did such things, did he?”

“Mirabeau never had to manage all of France’s Assassins at the height of a bloody revolution,” Trenet rebutted, giving her apprentice the side eye. “I do appreciate your concern, but enough about me. What have you been occupying yourself with this evening?”

Naeva allowed herself a small smile. “I was showing some men how to play cards,” she said. _Madame_ Trenet pulled up short, one eyebrow raised imperiously in question.

“You were teaching them?” she asked. Naeva shrugged.

“Well...they already knew the rules,” she began sheepishly. “But I knew them...better?”

“Naeva de la Serre,” the older woman gasped, sounding mock scandalized. “Did you cheat a group of poor, unassuming young men out of their money?”

She couldn’t say it was hard earned. Though perhaps they had fought tooth and nail to earn what they had at other gambling tables. “Maybe not money, but let’s just say I thoroughly dusted their attics at Pharaoh.” Her teacher shook her head at her for a moment before continuing forward.

“Whatever will I do with you, _mon chere_?” she asked.

“Conceivably, I might make a nice side-business if I were to split my winnings with you sixty-forty,” the younger woman suggested jokingly.

_Madame_ Trenet laughed for a moment before her expression sobered and morphed into combination of sympathy and concern, looking at Naeva. “I heard about you and Assassin Beauchêne,” she said. Naeva’s good humor cracked and faltered. Why did her mentor have to bring him up?

Clearing her throat, she looked away. “Who told you?” she inquired. She wasn’t angry, and her defeated tone had to give that away. The older woman sighed and clasped her hands.

“Does it matter?” she asked. “If it makes you feel better, it was Mel. She was concerned that, should your parting ways affect your performance as an Assassin, I know what the reason was. Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

Naeva swallowed and forced herself to give _Madame_ Trenet a smile. “No I don’t mind at all,” she began, trying to keep her voice light and airy. “We had a fight. Raf had learned about my past as a Templar and didn’t feel he could trust me because I didn’t tell him sooner.”

Her mentor’s face fell, her disappointment on Naeva’s behalf evident. The younger woman turned away and tried to fight back the burn in her throat. _Madame_ Trenet gently replaced her hand on her upper arm in a gesture of comfort.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , Naeva. I’m so sorry. That’s terrible,” she breathed, hurt and concern in her tone. Naeva shrugged.

“I...I don’t blame him,” she replied hoarsely. “He wants someone he knows he can trust implicitly. I can’t fault him for that.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked, letting them roll hot and slow down her cheeks. Suddenly, she felt herself being drawn into a hug and she allowed herself to bury her face in _Madame_ Trenet’s shoulder. The older woman’s hand came to rest on her head as she wept.

“I don’t understand,” she choked out between sobs. “I know why he left. I know his reasons.” She straightened up to look at her mentor. “Why am I still so...so sad? So angry?”

“Because you loved him,” her mentor replied quietly. “When I visited, I saw the way you looked at each other, the way you interacted. You loved him with all your heart, and you knew he felt the same. You felt that that love was meant to last, and it broke your heart to have it ripped away. I assume he was not gentle when he confronted you?”

Naeva shook her head, shuddering at the memory of the argument that had ended their relationship. She remembered the slam of the door when he entered the room so they could talk privately. He hadn’t yelled at her, nor she at him, but his words and his eyes- his sharp eyes -had hurt.

_”You were a bloody Templar, Naeva. Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it mattered. That was years ago. I’m an Assassin now.”_

_“You should have told me.”_

_“I was hoping to forget my past. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when we met, but how would i have gone about explaining myself?”_

_“Naeva, I’m not sure I can trust you anymore. You kept this from me for so long. Why?”_

_“I just said I didn’t think it mattered.”_

_“It matters to me!”_

_“I’m sorry!”_

She remembered him shaking his head then. Sorry wasn’t enough for Raphael, apparently. He had turned away from her, declared their relationship was at an end, and then informed her he was leaving.

And the truth was, she didn’t understand. His reasons were more than clear enough, but at the same time, it all seemed so petty and childish. She forgot to mention a single mistake in a relationship built on transparency and got burned for it. 

“He wanted someone he could trust,” she rasped. “It would seem that I didn’t fit the bill.”

Her mentor grasped her shoulders and looked sympathetically into her eyes. “It will get easier one day. It will take time, believe me, but our hearts were made to heal.” Naeva nodded at the older woman’s words. “You’ve loved and had your heart broken, but that only gives you greater strength and more experience to put to use the next time.”

“I’m not sure I want to have anything more to do with love,” Naeva laughed bitterly. “I don’t think I can trust it anymore.”

_Madame_ Trenet offered her an encouraging half-smile and, caressing her pupil’s face, said, “You may feel love for another one day. Don’t be afraid of it should that day come.”

Again, Naeva nodded at her mentor’s wise words, though tears still traced lines down her cheeks. “I promise. One day I will overcome this and move on.”

Releasing her face, the older woman smiled fully. “I believe you will. For now, all you can do is have the courage to keep going. Find the strength to weather this storm, and you’ll be alright.”

Doing her best to give the older woman a smile of assurance, Naeva said, “ _Merci_ , Mentor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She just missed him. I had to start adding dates to the chapters more for myself so I could keep track of where she is when. Hopefully I'll be able to update next week. I have almost twelve chapters of the fifteen written so I just have to work on the last three and then this story will be complete, but the way things are going I may have to take a hiatus until I'm done. I just thought I should let anyone who might be following this story a little closely that there's the possibility of me stepping away.  
> If it comes to that, I apologize profusely in advance.


	8. Chapter VIII: Stet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 1794: the Reign of Terror over, the French government is slowly reorganizing and the country is rebuilding. Arno Dorian is taking a sabbatical in Franciade.

**Chapter VIII: Stet**

_Translation: Let it Stand_

_Marseille  
15 August, 1794_

Picking a dart from the arsenal in her belt, Naeva loaded it into place on the gauntlet around her wrist and wound the mechanism so the miniature crossbow was ready to fire.

“Will you stop fooling with your toy, and pay attention?”

Turning to her friend, Naeva stuck out her lower lip and frowned. “You’re just jealous because you haven’t gotten yours yet. I was just loading it.”

“Right. What were we just talking about then?” Mel asked with a raised brow.

“Um,” Naeva stuttered. She had been paying attention, when had her mind wandered? “Something about our next assignment, yes? We’re supposed to receive our marching orders from Paris today, right?”

Mel threw her hands up in the air as Cass laughed. “I hate you, de la Serre! Every god forsaken time! How do you do it?” She ranted, stalking off to sulk on the other side of the room. Naeva laughed alongside her British teammate.

“What can I say, I can pay attention to more than one thing,” she shrugged.

“Not to stop another round of bickering, but I do wonder what mission we’ll get from Trenet this time,” Shona interjected from her seat across from Naeva. “No doubt it’ll be bloody harder than the last one.”

It was true that the missions they had been sent on recently had gradually become more and more difficult. The last one had been dismantling a smuggling ring which had been cheating the local trade offices and aiding in the hoarding of resources that were meant to go to Paris to aid in the growing restoration effort. She had walked away from that assignment with a few new scars.

“Maybe this time she’ll have us infiltrating a gang she wants us to eradicate,” Cass suggested.

“God I hope not,” Mel chimed in as she dropped onto the settee and tossed her legs over the back. “I hate those missions. Infiltrating should be to grab something, nothing else.”

“I, for one, agree with that statement,” came the voice of Eduard Devereaux as the old man stepped through the door. Out of respect for the Master of the Marseille bureau, the four young women scrambled to their feet and stood at attention. 

His hair had lightened in the five years Naeva had served under him at the bureau, having gone from salt and pepper to silver over time. Lines had formed under his eyes and around his mouth as well, signs of the stress he dealt with. Together, the team bowed to him.

“Sir,” Naeva greeted him. He returned her greeting with a nod and small smile in her direction. Coming to a stop in front of them, he removed an unsealed envelope from his waistcoat and held it aloft in his usual manner.

“I have your latest message here from Mentor Trenet,” he said, his smile turning a bit sad. Naeva frowned in concern. They had been sent on what Eduard had dubbed ‘suicide missions’ before, but he had never seemed particularly saddened by their assignments. Frustrated, but never saddened. That only came if they died.

Passing the missive to the Assassin closest to him, which was Mel, he gave them a tight lipped smile before stepping back. Mel stared at him for a moment with a raised brow before dropping her gaze to the paper in her hand. Naeva watched in silent curiosity as Mel unfolded it from the envelope and pulled apart the two pieces of paper, scanning the topmost sheet. Slowly, her expression morphed from confusion, to surprise, then to indignation. Her head shot up again to look at Master Devereaux.

“We’re being reassigned?” she exclaimed, incredulous. Not quite believing what she was hearing, Naeva’s eyebrows rose in shock and her mouth fell open. The Master lifted his hands.

“I dislike the situation as much as you four, but they are orders straight from _Madame_ Trenet. I had nothing to do with it,” he answered.

“Gimme that,” Shona interjected, snatching the letter from Mel’s hands and reading it herself. Naeva felt her heart drop upon seeing the most sensible and level-headed of their number begrudgingly set her jaw and nod. “She’s not lyin’. Says ‘ere we have two days to pick our new stations.”

“We’re being split up!” Mel practically shouted, looking like she was ready to explode.

“Not necessarily,” Cass said, holding the second piece of paper. “Here’s the list of openings that _Madame_ is suggesting for us. There’s a few here that we could take as a team if we wanted.”

Hearing the opportunity, Mel rushed around Cass to read the list over her shoulder with a critical eye. Frowning, she looked back at Devereaux.

“What have we done? What have we done that merits being reassigned?” she asked, voice breaking. He shook his head.

“You have done nothing bad at all, the lot of you,” he assured them. “In fact, I think the reason behind your being reassigned is quite the opposite. The Mentor must believe you are ready to move on from here.”

Naeva looked down at her feet for a moment, tongue little more than a lump in her mouth. What did she say to that? She’d been with her companions for nearly five and half years and suddenly they were to be split apart? If _Madame_ ordered her, she would have no choice, but she would miss them. Swallowing thickly, she lifted her head and opened her mouth to speak.

“We will have to think about this, _Monsieur_ ,” she told him quietly, folding her arms across her chest. “We’ll have our responses to you by the end of two days.” Though he looked concerned and saddened yet, Devereaux pursed his lips and nodded once in her direction before turning on his heel and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him so the ladies could discuss their options privately.

“We’re being split up,” Mel whispered as she sat down heavily into one of the armchairs arranged around the sitting room where they had gathered. “I can’t believe we’re being split up.”

“Calm down, would you?” Cass chided her. “We are not bein’ split up! I just said there’s options.”

“Let’s see what we have,” Naeva said, doing her best to be optimistic. Stepping up beside Cass, she craned her neck to see the list of locations and numbers needed to fill the stations.

“I’ll read ‘em off,” Cass offered before clearing her throat. “Yorkshire, England, two; Cork, Ireland, one; Florence, Italy, two; Cairo, Egypt, four; Paris, France, one; Lisbon, Portugal, three; Venice, Italy, one; Nassau, Caribbean, two; Charleston, South Carolina, America, two; and Rockport, Massachusetts, America, four.”

“So those are our options?” Shona asked, with a grimace. “I’m not goin’ to Cork, that’s for bloody certain.”

“And I’m not going to Yorkshire. I prefer the city, thank you very much,” Cass said. That scratched two locations off the list.

“Well, we do have a couple days to make our choice,” Naeva added. “And if we all want to go somewhere together, that shortens the list considerably.” Her friends looked between each other for a moment and looked to her, nodding. “Alright. Let’s each think about it then, shall we?”

~oOo~

Closing her eyes, Naeva took a deep breath of the wind as it blew in her face, rustling her hood back and brushing through her hair. She had tried not to dwell on it, really she had. Whenever she thought of the list, or looked at it, she did her best to focus only on the two locations that would allow her whole team to travel as one, but despite her best efforts, it always drifted.

_Paris, France, one._

She had tried to ignore the entry at first, but the more she had looked at the list and thought about her options, the more it nagged her. To think there was a current opening at the Paris branch, and that _Madame_ Trenet had put the list together herself with her students in mind was an idea that was too tempting.

But her friends. Her sisters in the brotherhood with whom she had trained, fought, and bled with for the last five years wouldn’t be going with her if she chose Paris. There wasn’t enough room to host them comfortably, and three extra Assassins weren’t needed, especially now that the Revolution and subsequent Reign of Terror had ended.

The news that it was over, all of it, had been a relief to Naeva. But what came next? It seemed the Revolution had been a part of her world her entire life. It had torn her life into two distinct halves- the first as a Templar’s daughter, and the second as a dedicated Assassin. The Revolution had changed her from a naive child with foolish ideals of love to an adult woman who no longer held many illusions about the world around her.

What would her sister think of her now?

Had Elise even survived the Revolution? Or had she been massacred along with so many of the other unfortunate nobles that they had known while growing up? She hoped not. It had taken a long time, but Naeva had come to terms with the relationship she shared with her closest remaining blood relative. Like it or not, they were sisters, and there would be no changing that. Standing death threat or no.

She didn’t need another reason to add to the list of reasons why she should or shouldn’t return to Paris, there were simply too many as it was. Sighing, she tipped her head back to let the sun warm her face as it shined down on the roof she stood upon.

As the wind died down, she heard footsteps approaching from behind her. Three sets. Opening her eyes again, she turned to see her friends stepping up behind her. Smiling in greeting, she asked, “So have you decided yet on where we’re going?”

They nodded. “We were thinking about America. Egypt’s much too hot and the opening in Rockport sounds nice,” Cass stated, folding her arms across her chest. 

“Plus, they’ve already had their Revolution, so things should be quiet over there across the pond,” Shona added. “I’ve heard its nice. Hope none of my cousins have emigrated. Ow!” The taller girl scowled at her shorter companion who had just elbowed her hard in the ribs.

“Be nice to your cousins!” the redhead chided her sternly.

Mel, who up until then had been silent, straightened her back and quirked a brow at Naeva. “So,” she said, “Are you with us?”

The French Assassin frowned. Something in her best friend’s tone and face told her that she knew her struggle all too well. Naeva looked down at the space of roof between them, her brow creased more out of sadness now. 

If she went with them, her heart would forever be torn in two- constantly demanding that she return. But would it be so different if she went to Paris? Reaching up to hug herself, she looked back at Mel, uncertain of herself.

In return, her friend smiled, her dark eyes telling Naeva she knew exactly what she was thinking. Flicking her eyes to Cass, she saw her friend’s smile drop into a frown.

“Naeva?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Naeva replied quickly. “I promise, it’s nothing.”

She heard Mel sigh, the noise almost invariably accompanied by an eyeroll. Shona seemed to pick up on the unspoken realization and breathed a quiet “Oh.” A subtle nudge to Cass’s shoulder and a meaningful look likewise settled her confusion and she looked at Naeva.

“You’re...You’re not coming with us, are you?” she intoned.

“I’m not sure,” Naeva muttered, scuffing the toe of her boot against the roof.

Mel groaned. “ _Dios mio, chiquita!_ ” she exclaimed, dragging her hands down her face. “I know you know what you want, just admit it.”

There was no winning this argument. Not against Mel, who had folded her arms across her chest and was watching Naeva smugly, waiting for her to own to the truth of her statement. Rolling her eyes skyward for a moment, Naeva sighed and nodded.

“Ah, what did I tell you?” the Spanish Assassin said, looking to their other friends. “I knew she would want to go to Paris as soon as I saw it on the list.”

“But if I go to Paris, I won’t be with you!” Naeva interjected finally. “I’d be breaking up the team and I don’t want that!”

Immediately, her face turned hot with embarrassment as her companions stared at her. If it was rare for Naeva to sidestep the rules of etiquette, it was as scarce as hen’s teeth for her to raise her voice unless she had to. “We stay together,” she muttered, attempting to excuse her outburst.

Suddenly, she found herself enveloped in a pair of strong arms, which she knew to be unforgiving and vice-like on the training grounds. “Ay, Naeva,” her best friend said next to her ear. Stepping back, her friend held her shoulders and smiled gently at her.

“Don’t worry about us,” she assured her. “You’ve been wanting to go back to Paris since you left. This is your chance. _Your_ chance. The one you’ve been waiting for.”

“She’s right,” Shona put in, another rare smile lighting up her features. “If it’s what you want, then how could we stand in our sister’s way? You should go.”

Cass nodded soundly. “I agree. We can go on to America, but you should go to Paris,” she said. “You have stronger ties to your home than any of us, Naeva. I won’t ask you to uproot yourself any further.”

“ _Mes amies_...” Naeva whispered. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving them, though. They had only ever operated as a team, none of them- not even Mel -having taken a mission without at least one of their teammates as backup. She would be going it alone for sure if she went to Paris.

Mel gripped her shoulders tighter, forcing her to look her in the eye. “No, I can see what you’re thinking,” she said, preventing Naeva from saying anything. “You can do it. You are one of the best Assassins I have had the privilege of knowing. You don’t need a partner to watch your back anymore, you can do that yourself. I know you can.”

Naeva closed her eyes and smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Mel,” she said, leaning forward to wrap her friend in a tight hug.

Shona threw her hands in the air, incredulous. “What are we, horse meat?” she asked, looking down at Cass. The redhead shrugged.

“ _Viens ici_ ,” Naeva laughed, reaching out for her other two teammates and pulling them in to the group hug. 

“I’ll miss you three so much,” she breathed.

~oOo~

_Paris  
3 September, 1794_

Naeva sighed as she lowered herself into the armchair opposite the one that sat behind her Mentor’s desk, smoothing out the creases in her trousers as she waited. Leaning her head against the back of the chair, she stared up at the ceiling and studied the cracks from boredom even as her eyes itched and demanded she close them.

The trip from Marseille had been more exhausting than usual as she and Gerard had elected, rather erroneously, to forego the carriage this time and instead simply travel on horseback. The reasoning had been that, with the increase of trade and traffic on the road between the two cities, not having the bulk of the carriage allowed them to maneuver with greater ease and thus cut down their travel time.

Of course, they had been right and the drive was shortened by half a day, but Naeva wasn’t certain she would ever regain feeling in her legs and backside.

The door to _Madame_ Trenet’s office swung open then, and clicked shut after a pair of booted feet had shuffled inside. The footsteps paused for a moment, and she heard a sigh. 

“Why am I not surprised that you’re here?” Trenet asked. Naeva smiled. To anyone who didn’t know her, the Mentor’s voice sounded gruff and no-nonsense, but the younger Assassin could hear the slight undercurrent of amusement in her tone.

“To be fair, you did approve me for the position,” Naeva reminded her as her Master stepped around the desk and sat back in her own chair to smile at her apprentice. Well, soon to be former apprentice, as the information in the documents she had been sent for her reassignment had detailed.

“I’d hoped to tempt you with Rockport as much as your companions,” the older woman sighed, though she didn’t sound dejected in the least.

“I thought to go with them,” Naeva admitted with a shrug. “But they supported my decision. I wouldn’t have accepted being reassigned here if they hadn’t.”

“Of course not,” _Madame_ replied. “You four were as close as sisters. It would have broken my heart to see you broken up against your wills.” Naeva smiled and dropped her gaze to examine her fingernails. She did miss her friends dearly.

Shona and Cass had left first, traveling together on a privately chartered boat that Eduard had purchased them tickets for. It had been odd for the four of them to dress up in their finest clothes so they could journey down to the docks to see two of their number off. She and Mel had hugged them goodbye, vowed to write them, and waved until their arms grew sore in their sockets and Cass and Shona were little more than ant-sized dots on the distant vessel.

Mel had departed a week afterward. She was going to Rockport to join Shona and Cass, but wanted to visit her family in Madrid before she left Europe altogether and headed for _les colonies_ or the United States as they had come to be called. They had spent what time they could together, sparring occasionally and talking on the roof until their voices whittled away to nothing.

All too soon the day came when Mel said her long goodbyes, promising to send letters when she could, and lingering as long as possible before climbing into her carriage to drive away.

Then Naeva was alone.

She hadn’t wanted to stay in the Marseille bureau for longer than she had to, despite the fact that the place had grown on her since her arrival. Of course, she’d never hated it, but it felt more like home than any other place she had been. It just held too many memories.

So when her assignment request went through and her documents were brought to her by Eduard at long last, she didn’t hesitate. Her bags had been packed and ready to be shipped to Paris for days by then. She had offered her goodbyes to Master Devereaux and all her other friends and acquaintances in the bureau before haranguing Gerard into escorting her to Paris.

And there she was, the last of her unit still remaining in Europe, trying to stand on her own two feet no matter how shaky her legs might be.

“It’s good to be back, _Madame_ Trenet,” she told her teacher. The Mentor put a hand up and shook her head.

“While I am not entirely against receiving my due respect from youth, Naeva,” the older woman said, “you are a grown woman. Please, call me Sophie.” The younger Assassin’s mouth nearly dropped open in shock.

“I...I don’t deserve the honor, _Madame_ ,” she stammered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Does it make you feel uncomfortable to address me by my given name?” the Mentor asked, brow furrowing in concern. Naeva shook her head.

“No, it’s just that I’ve only ever referred to you as Mentor or _Madame_ Trenet,” she replied. “I feel it would be strange to call you by anything less now.”

The older woman smiled again serenely and nodded. “I understand. Call me by whatever title you feel most comfortable with, but Sophie is always an option should you ever choose to call me by it, _mon chere_ ,” she said.

Naeva nodded. Placing her hands on the arms of the chair, she sat forward. “So what did you want to speak with me about?” she inquired, changing the subject. “My letter of reassignment said that you wanted to speak to me upon my arrival after I was settled in my rooms.

Trenet saw her evasion, but accepted it. “Ah, yes,” she said, moving to likewise sit forward in her own chair. “That would bring us to the matter of your apprenticeship.”

Naeva felt her stomach do a somersault in her gut.

“Seeing as I have taught you all I know, and that you have become an experienced Assassin in your own right alongside your team,” she continued, rising to her feet and stepping around the desk. “I have decided that today you graduate the official position as Novice. Congratulations, Assassin.”

For the second time in less than two minutes, Naeva was speechless. She breathed a laugh. She had known the promotion was coming, but not so soon. She had assumed _Madame_ Trenet would want to see her in action locally before she changed her status. The suddenness of it all was what really got her. She had been a Novice for almost five years. To be an Assassin without a teacher’s guidance was a new sensation.

“Breathe, Naeva,” the Mentor laughed.

\---

Three hours later, a very much recovered Naeva shoved open the door to the training hall, her hood drawn over her head and a mask covering her lower features. After getting over her initial shock thanks to a strong cup of tea from _Madame_ Trenet, they had continued their conversation which eventually drifted to the subject of a face mask.

They were surprisingly popular in Paris versus Marseille, and, after her Mentor had done some research and they had schemed up a plan, were going to be instrumental in the plot they had devised.

That was, if Naeva could survive her prank without dying of laughter. She hoped their faces would be worth it.

Fighting back a smile, she scanned the general training area where there were several pairs of Assassins and sword duelists sparring. They were supposed to be here, all three of them. And she knew _exactly_ which one she wanted to haze.

Her heart leapt when she heard a familiar laugh of triumph and she turned to see, conveniently, the very person she was looking for. Schooling her visible features into careful neutrality, she watched as a shabbily dressed Assassin shoved another’s blade away, his opponent falling to the dusty ground.

“Nice try, _une ami_ ,” he laughed, extending a strong hand to help up his fallen partner. “Next time, perhaps. You’re getting better.” Looking at the crowd of gathered Novices standing around and staring, he said, “Anyone else want to give it a go?”

Behind him, Naeva lifted a hand to volunteer. One of the initiates spotted her and pointed her out meekly. The man, who was still as fit-looking as ever- if a bit more filled out with age -turned to grin at her through a fairly sparse dark beard. She recognized those eyes, and fought to keep down her own smile.

“Ah, the newcomer. _Madame_ Trenet said you’d be arriving today,” he said, then quirked his brows in confusion. “You want to fight?” Naeva said nothing, too afraid she would dissolve into a fit of giggles if she didn’t keep her mouth shut, and nodded. 

“Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders and drawing his sabre again, widening his stance into his ready position. Naeva followed suit, wrapping her hand around the sturdy handle of her own sword and holding it up lightly, one hand resting behind her back. She saluted him briefly, and waited for him to move first.

As she believed he would, he obliged her quickly with a grin, and before she knew it, their blades were clashing against one another. Steel grated sharply against steel, occasional sparks flashing as they clanged. He feinted a stab, but quickly delivered a wide swing which Naeva ducked to avoid and parried his downward strike easily.

Their blades locked together, her opponent having the advantage of height and strength. Naeva gritted her teeth. He was as strong as she remembered, but she was not quite so weak anymore. With all her might, she pushed forward and shoved their blades apart to end the impasse, whirling away into a defensive stance as he bore down on her again.

After a moment on the defense, Naeva spotted a weak spot in his stance- he had pushed forward overzealously and had leaned too much weight on his front foot. Sinking low while still pressing her blade to his, she swept one leg out and managed to soundly knock his back foot, setting him off-balance. He wobbled for a moment and Naeva took the opportunity to repeat the movement, knocking him on his backside in the dust.

There was a gasp from the crowd of Novice Assassins that had gathered around and she heard whispers and snickering passing through their midst. She _had_ just beaten one of their training Masters. She didn’t bother to hide her smile anymore, it was impossible to even try.

At her feet, Thomas swore under his breath and turned his head to look at the younger generation of Assassins. “Class...Dismissed,” he growled between breaths, obviously a bit embarrassed at being defeated, but then that was the point. Around them, the group dispersed, some of them giving her slightly awed if not intimidated looks. She looked back down at her old friend as he stared up at her in confusion.

“How in the hell did you do that?” he asked. Naeva couldn’t help it, she grinned, and he must have seen the corners of her eyes crinkle because his frown of confusion only deepened. Lifting her foot, she lightly kicked him in what part of his backside wasn’t on the ground.

“I did say I’d kick you in the _derriere_ one day, didn’t I?” she asked, raising a brow. He stared blankly at her for a second before realization dawned in his eyes and the brightest grin she had seen from him since before she left broke across his features.

“ _Naeva!_ ” he exclaimed, scrambling to get to his feet as she laughed and fumbled to yank down her face mask. Rising to his full height, he laughed along with her and enfolded her in a hug, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around. “ _Mon Dieu_ , it’s been years!” Setting her down, but not quite letting go of her, he turned to face the rest of the training hall and yelled, “Guillaume! Jean-Claude! Come see who finally came to visit!”

Two figures emerged from another crowd of Assassins, both of them still wearing much the same clothes as she remembered. She couldn’t stop smiling even if she wanted to. She could practically see Guillaume squint for a moment before he too recognized her and broke into a run, charging over to where she and Thomas stood and likewise wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“It is you,” he muttered. “Look at you, _petite dame_ ,” he said, sounding a bit choked up. “You’re an Assassin now.”

“Your beard is longer,” she said, having to fight back the lump that was rising in her throat.

Finally, Jean-Claude approached her and offered her what she was certain was still a rare smile. “It is good to see you again, Naeva,” he said. 

“I can hardly believe it,” Guillaume said, his smile never dimming. “Its been years.”

Naeva laughed. “I’ll explain, _mes amis_ , I promise,” she said, her arms slung around both Thomas and Guillaume’s shoulders.

“Tonight was going to be boring, but it’s about to get a lot more interesting now that you’re here,” Thomas told her, his broad grin never faltering.

“He’s been planning your return celebration since the day after you left,” Guillaume told her quietly in her ear.

Naeva laughed, tears of joy leaking down her cheeks as- shoulder to shoulder with her former friends -they all departed the training hall. She hadn’t been so happy in months.

~oOo~

_Paris  
28 September, 1794_

Naeva hauled herself up the ledge she gripped and used the momentum to propel herself upwards, reaching out for the next visible handhold in the side of the _Notre Dame_ Cathedral. Despite everything being so much larger in Paris, there were more crevices and ledges for her to use as she scaled the city’s architecture. Continuing her climb, she didn’t stop until she reached the topmost tier of the gothic church.

Straightening, even as the wind froze and battered her, she inhaled deeply and looked down at her home city as it spread out beneath her. She could see that, even with just a few months having passed since the Reign of Terror had ended, Paris and her people were healing. They were healing, and so far they were free. True, not all the Revolution’s scars had faded and there was still fear in the city, but at least the crowds no longer had someone to rile them into the rabid fervor they had once given in to.

Naeva was glad she hadn’t been here to see that, Maximilien Robespierre having come into power just a few short months after her brief visit to deliver the report to _Madame_ Trenet. She shuddered at the thought of what she might have seen had she been present at the time. What if her father had not died and she was still considered a member of the aristocracy?

She couldn’t even picture herself as the girl she once was, the idea being too outlandish. She wore trousers and waistcoats instead of skirts and corsets, and she had no intention of going back. The mental image of herself at court, stuffed into a suffocating and unbearably hot dress, dancing the night away and chittering with nobles as she attempted to simper her way into their good graces for the benefit of her family, was enough to make her laugh aloud.

Nowadays she would prefer the more straightforward method of cornering her target and threatening or blackmailing them as opposed to resorting to her charms. 

It was truly impossible for her to reconcile the naive girl of her youth with the steely nerved woman she was now. Shaking her head, she took one last deep breath before descending the _Notre Dame_ and sneaking inside to find the entrance to the Assassin City below.

She briefly checked in with _Madame_ Trenet to alert her to her mission’s success- another Templar had made the mistake of rearing his head -and she received the Council’s thanks for her work. Since she had started taking missions immediately after her arrival, the two other Masters had seemed impressed by her work ethic and adherence to the creed. She worked carefully and precisely, just as she had been trained. She stole information, she eradicated targets, she tracked down future targets, and she did it all exactly within the parameters she was given. 

It appeared that her deference to the Council was looked well upon by Masters Quemar and Beylier, who had been wary of her when she first started accepting missions. Given what had happened a year past, it didn’t surprise her as much as it might have, but she had quickly proved them wrong and made _Madame_ Trenet proud. She had continued to do so for the last two and a half weeks.

Pleased with her good work, she had been dismissed by _Madame_ Trenet- who was looking in better spirits than she had been -and set off in search of her friends. It was late, too late for them to be on the training grounds with their students, so it was more likely she would find them in the dining hall.

Sure enough, she found two out of three of them together at their usual table playing cards with their dishes set off to the side so they had more room. Her stomach grumbled loudly to remind her of its empty state and she took the time to gather some food before moving over to Guillaume and Jean-Claude.

“ _Bonsoir_ ,” she greeted when she reached them, sitting down next to Jean-Claude and pausing to take a look at his cards. Analytical as he was, they were organized meticulously and Naeva saw he might have a good hand depending on what game they were playing. Guillaume looked up from his own cards and smiled at her.

“ _Bonsoir_ Naeva,” he replied, shifting one of the cards in his hand. “Did your mission go well?”

“I’ve brought peace to yet another Templar, so I would say so, yes,” she responded, pulling apart her bread and using her knife to spread a thin layer of butter on it. 

“The Council’s been pleased with your work, thus far,” Jean-Claude commented as he reached forward to lay a card down. Naeva slanted her gaze at his hand, but maintained a straight face so as not give him away. “A high compliment.”

“I do try,” she said. “I don’t know how it is or was here, but in Marseille it was fairly simple to follow orders and easy.”

“You are right,” Guillaume nodded. “It was not so easy here. The Revolution was happening right on our doorstep, and our brothers were constantly getting caught in the crossfire.”

“Or dragged into the fight,” Jean-Claude muttered. Guillaume pursed his lips and gave the quieter man a stern look.

Naeva frowned. “Did...Did you know someone?” she asked.

Guillaume’s stern look relented and turned to a surprisingly guarded sadness. “ _Oui_. Everyone knows someone who died in the Revolution. Like I said, we lost many brothers.”

She was not convinced, however. This somehow seemed more personal, as though there had been a fourth member of the trio that had come and gone since she had left. Perhaps there had. Naeva let it drop.

“How have your missions been going? I know you get sent out less now that you three have started teaching the Novices,” she inquired.

“They go well, thankfully,” the older man said, frowning as he focused on his cards and Jean-Claude’s last play. Setting down three of his own, he said, “The Templars have been quieter now that Germain and Robespierre are gone.”

Naeva quirked a brow. She hadn’t heard the name Germain before in reference to the Revolution, and Guillaume had mentioned his name before Robespierre’s which likely meant nothing good. She didn’t particularly want to ask about it, especially given that it was over.

Letting the subject go, she sighed and watched the card game play out on the table in front of her. Just as Jean-Claude was about to lay down a potentially winning card, there was a ruckus at the front of the dining room. Looking up to see the door, she lifted a brow again when she caught sight of Thomas striding toward them with a broad grin plastered on his face.

“ _Mes amis!_ ” he shouted in greeting. Guillaume huffed a sigh, upset at having his focus broken, and turned around.

“What do you want now?” he groused at his younger compatriot.

Thomas stopped short and gestured over his shoulder at the door. “Arno’s back,” he said, panting. Naeva’s mind went blank.

_...Arno?_

She was yanked back to reality by Jean-Claude and Guillaume standing up violently, the legs of their chairs scraping harshly against the floor. She jumped in her seat and looked up at them. “Arno’s back?” Guillaume breathed. Thomas sighed and nodded.

“Yes, Arno Dorian. About yea-tall and yea-wide, sullen expression,” Thomas said, gesturing as he described him. “He's back.”

_Back?_

“Sorry, Naeva. He's a friend we haven't seen in quite some time,” Guillaume explained. “We’ll be right back.”

She nodded blankly, rooted to her spot and only dimly aware of her friends departing her company.

_Arno Dorian?_

Was it possible?

Surely there had to be other Arno Dorians out there somewhere.

She wasn't sure she could stay there to find out. Rising from her seat, she numbly pushed herself forward and exited the dining room. Her rooms and the privacy and safety they offered suddenly sounded very nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its about time we got to the good stuff.
> 
> The next two chapters were probably the ones I'm most excited about publishing as they are (sort of) my favorite. And if you think Naeva hasn't been an emotional trainwreck this far in- wait till you see chapter ten. Just saying.
> 
> Also I'm on time this week so yay I guess. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you have time or feel inclined to share your thoughts, feel free to leave a comment or constructive criticism to help me improve this story!


	9. Chapter IX: Adsum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 1794: The French government is in still in the midst of reformation. Arno has returned to work after his sabbatical, much to the joy of his old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologize right here and now for taking such a horrifically long hiatus from this. And I didn't even reach the point where I wanted to be for the hiatus in the first place!! I'm sort of mad at myself for not posting this chapter at least, even though I've had it ready to go for the last month. I apologize for that to all of you who have liked this fic or at least took a passing interest in it.  
> I have, however, finished an extra chapter so it will be a few more weeks at least before I go back on hiatus unless I can get the final three chapters written before then. At this point its a fifty-fifty chance of either.  
> In any case, here's the chapter you've all been waiting for (maybe???)
> 
>  
> 
> _yeet_

**Chapter IX: Adsum**

_Translation: I Am Here_

_Paris  
9 October, 1794_

There was no denying it, she was avoiding him.

Naeva had spent the better part of the last two weeks in her rooms, only leaving when she was called out on assignment. She kept in top form on her own, not bothering to go to the training hall and risk running into him. She knew she was being cowardly for not going to see him, but it seemed impossible not to be.

What if it wasn’t him?

That thought had been circulating in her mind almost constantly. She hadn’t seen him in five years, seven actually if she didn’t count the brief seconds she had spoken with him at Elise’s soiree. What if he didn’t recognize her?

What if it wasn’t him?

She shook her head, refusing to let herself dwell on it any further. It was ridiculous, really, that she was so hesitant to approach him. She had given up her childish infatuation with him years ago, once she recognized it for what it was. Since then, she had only thought of him in terms of a friend she was worried about. Though, she had never been able to let herself admit to the possibility that he could be dead. And if the man her friends had been raving about for the last couple weeks was the same as her childhood friend, then she would be proven right.

She just didn’t want to be proven wrong.

A knock on her door jolted her out of her thoughts and she rolled off her bed and darted over to the door, yanking rope to work the pulley. The door swung open to reveal another masked Assassin who held a piece of paper in one hand.

“A message for you from Mentor Trenet,” he announced, crouching down to offer it to her. Naeva stood up on her toes to accept it with a smile.

“ _Merci_ ,” she thanked him. The man gave her a short nod and straightened up before striding off down the hall. Naeva released the rope and let the door swing shut above her. Looking down at the paper in her hand, she unfolded it and read its contents.

_Naeva, where have you been? I wish to speak with you, and I have an assignment for you.  
M. Trenet_

Naeva sighed. Well, she knew she couldn’t hide in her room forever. Pulling her hood over her head and lifting the mask to cover her lower face, she pocketed the note and ascended the ladder. No sense wasting any time, especially where _Madame_ Trenet was involved. If she put off going to see the Mentor, she knew the older woman would become even more curious and worried.

Entering the Council office, she let the door click shut behind her and stepped into the room, looking around to see if Masters Quemar or Beylier were around. Upon seeing that they were nowhere in sight, she walked in and approached _Madame_ Trenet’s desk. The older woman was looking through papers.

“Naeva, please sit,” she addressed. Bowing, Naeva did as instructed and lowered herself into the armchair she had decided was her favorite. She picked at the upholstery of the chair’s arm while she waited. Finally, the Mentor set her documents aside and spoke. “You’ve made yourself scarce as of late.”

The younger woman jumped in her seat, but nodded. “I suppose I have, _Madame_ ,” she muttered. “ _Mes excusez_.” It was a weak apology, but it was all she had to give. The Mentor sighed and leaned forward to pick up the teapot from the tray sitting on the corner of her desk. Pouring two cups, she offered one to Naeva and the younger woman accepted it, the warmth of the hot tea reaching her fingers beneath her gloves.

“I just want to know if you’re alright,” the older woman told her gently. Naeva smiled. Since meeting _Madame_ Trenet, the Master Assassin had become like a surrogate mother to her. It left Naeva feeling warmer inside than the tea ever could.

“I’m well,” she replied. However, looking at the Mentor’s face, she could see that her former teacher was not convinced. Her eyes had an all-knowing gaze that Naeva had not seen since her mother had stared at her in the same fashion. She swallowed nervously under the scrutiny and sank in her seat, absently rubbing the rim of her cup with her forefinger.

“Naeva, what’s wrong?” the older woman asked, raising a brow. “You know you can tell me if you want to.”

While she was hesitant, Naeva did want to tell _someone_. Perhaps _Madame_ Sophie would understand. Sighing, she looked down at the desk between them. “It’s foolish,” she mumbled.

“If it were simply foolish, you would be forthright in telling me,” her teacher surmised. “What is it?”

“It...It has to do with,” she paused. Did she really want to do this? One look at Sophie Trenet’s expectant face told her she had to. She’d really stepped in this time and there was no backing out now. “It has to do with Arno Dorian,” she said.

If _Madame_ Trenet had ever looked confused before, she had never looked as confused as she did now. Finally, realization seemed to dawn on her features and her mouth opened in a surprised “O” as she gasped loudly.

“No!” she breathed, her surprise and confusion turning into the glee that comes from being privy to the best gossip. “I remember him having a relation to the de la Serre family, but it slipped my mind. I must have forgotten. You grew up with him, didn’t you?”

Naeva nodded.

“He was the friend you wanted to rescue from the Bastille?”

Naeva nodded.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , did you fancy him?”

Regretting her decision, Naeva nodded.

Was it possible for people to die from embarrassment?

“You haven’t approached him, have you?” Trenet inquired, a knowing look plastered on her features. Sighing, Naeva shook her head. There were hardly any words she could use to explain herself. At the very least, _Madame_ Trenet had just relieved her of one fear. She knew it was him now.

So why did that somehow make her feel worse?

“Are you going to approach him?” the older woman asked, leaning forward to brace her elbows on the desk. She was far too interested in this situation for Naeva’s good.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. She certainly hadn’t been planning to. It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ to talk to him, to see him, but not knowing what his reaction would be, what he would think of her- that was what frightened her.

Arno, despite the time that had passed, had still been her closest friend at one time. But she had been the dutiful second child of the Templar Grandmaster then, not the experienced Assassin she was now. She had killed people, taken lives. Granted, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same seeing as they were both in the brotherhood, but if he still held memories of her as the innocent young girl she had been, they would be shattered.

“Are you not sure if you want to?” Trenet asked with a raised brow.

“I’m not sure if I _should_ ,” Naeva replied, frowning in concern. “Its been years since I’ve seen him. What if he doesn’t remember me? What if he does and he still looks at me like I’m a child? What if we're just completely different people and don't get along?”

“So you think it would be better for you to simply avoid him?” Her Mentor inquired.

“No,” Naeva groaned in reply. “Perhaps…”

“‘Perhaps’ nothing,” _Madame_ Trenet interjected. “You can’t avoid him forever. He’s assigned to this bureau. You’ll have to see him sometime.”

“Can we please let this drop?” Naeva asked, feeling uncomfortable enough to blush. It was fortunate that she was as close friends with _Madame_ Trenet as she was, otherwise she would have felt bad shutting down the conversation. “You said in your note that you had an assignment for me.”

Trenet sat back in her seat, candlelight flickering gently across her features. Naeva wasn’t certain if it was a trick of the light or not, but she thought she might have seen the ghost of a secretive smile on her lips for the barest hint of a second. That didn’t bode well for her. However, her Mentor sighed, seeming to let it go. “That was a diversion to get you down here. I am told you haven’t been leaving your quarters for your normal routine, and I merely wished to know what was wrong,” the older woman explained. “And now I know. You may leave if you wish.”

With a sigh, Naeva stood. She had been hoping that she would receive a mission that would require travel or a stakeout so she could escape the Sanctuary for a while. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her mask up with one hand and set her teacup back on _Madame’s_ tray with the other. Bowing, she left the room.

The Assassin City was a big place, though. What were the chances she would run into him without wanting to?

~oOo~

_Paris  
11 October, 1794_

Two days later, Naeva realized that those chances had risen exponentially after telling her Mentor about her fear.

While playing a round of cards with the group she had met in her brief visit the previous year, another messenger had given her another note from _Madame_ Trenet, telling her that she had an urgent assignment for her.

_Another Templar, an underling of Francoise Germain, is attempting to weasel his way into the newly forming Directorate. He must be stopped at all costs. Meet me in the Council room immediately for further details.  
M. Trenet_

She had folded her cards, much to the relief of her new friends, and hurried to the Council room. She opened the door quietly, hoping not to disturb any meeting going on inside as she could hear the dulled sound of voices even from behind the door. Letting it click shut behind her, she caught the tail end of the conversation.

“...can do it. The Convention shouldn’t be too difficult to infiltrate, and if my partner is as good as you say, then we ought to have no trouble getting back out either.”

Naeva’s legs refused to move, her feet rooted to the floorboards beneath them. She knew that voice. It was a bit changed, a bit deeper. Wiser, it sounded, and his words more analytical. But there was no denying it.

Arno Dorian stood in the room just beyond the small antechamber where the entryway was. If her joints hadn’t locked up, she would have clapped a hand over her masked mouth and run for the hills. Despite the lack of a threat, adrenaline still coursed through her and her heart pounded in her ribcage. Blood roared in her ears, but even so she heard the conversation die down. Footsteps approached.

Luckily, it was _Madame_ Trenet who rounded the corner and saw her, not Arno. Or unluckily. She wasn’t certain which yet. She caught a glimpse of her Mentor’s smile, however, and she knew in that moment that this was all a set up. She had told the _wrong_ person about her feelings.

“Ah, Madeline,” her teacher announced. “I thought that was you, please come in. This meeting includes you. Come meet your partner.” The older woman had stepped into the antechamber and jerked her head towards the well-lit council office, her eyes saying something along the lines of _if you don’t walk in there by yourself, so help me I will drag you in by your ear to make this happen._

Wanting to avoid any more humiliation than necessary, Naeva forced her suddenly heavy feet into motion. Her tongue felt dry in her mouth and she wasn’t certain if she would be able to speak. Putting one foot in front of the other, she rounded the corner at _Madame_ Trenet’s side.

On the opposite side of the room, Masters Quemar and Beylier stood, the former leaning against a bookshelf, and the latter bracing himself over the table with a map of Paris. However, another figure stood with his back to her. He wore a dirty and beat-up looking prussian blue coat and hood. Hearing her approach, he swiveled his upper body and looked at her from beneath the shadows of his hood, but she could see the lower half of his face clearly enough.

Yes, those were the same features she had studied religiously and dreamed about for years as a teenager.

She clenched her jaw beneath her mask, grateful that she had chosen to integrate the piece of cloth into her ensemble. A credit to the balance and stealth training she had received, she didn’t trip over her own feet as she approached.

“Arno Dorian, meet Madeline LaFuente- your partner for this mission,” Trenet said.

Naeva wasn't sure whether to be grateful for or confused by the alias.

Ever the gentleman that Naeva remembered, he offered her a smile and a half bow. The only difference was that he didn’t reach for her hand to plant a kiss on it. So he wasn’t as cavalier as he had been seven years ago, that was perhaps a relief. But when his eyes caught the light, reflecting the white-orange of the candles, she saw something that was notably different. The light in his eyes, the happiness, was dulled.

“ _Enchante, Mademoiselle_ ,” he greeted, the words polite but lacking much conviction.

Naeva couldn’t speak, the shock still too much. Her words caught in her throat and she shuffled her feet, bumping against _Madame_ Trenet. She ducked her head away from him.

“Ah, um, pardon me, Arno,” she said, noticing Naeva’s distress. “Madeline can’t speak. She lost her tongue in the Revolution, quite literally.” Naeva frowned, wondering how _Madame_ Trenet had dreamed that up. Was this punishment of some kind? Now if she wanted to speak again, she would have to reveal herself to Arno, something she wasn’t quite ready for. In turn, she shifted beside the Mentor, acting uncomfortable.

Arno’s brow furrowed in concern. “That’s horrible,” he said, sounding disgusted. She saw his hands clench at his sides. Undoubtedly, he had seen or heard of things just as terrible taking place during the Revolution. Pretending to be embarrassed over her false affliction, she gave her head the barest nod.

“Trust that Madeline is no less than an exemplary Assassin, _Monsieur_ Dorian,” Beylier said, stifling the tiny smile that had threatened to give her away. Arno turned to him, bristling. Naeva could sense from his words that there was long-standing tension between the two men. “She may be mute, but you will not find a more dedicated and skilled young woman in all of Paris.”

“I never said anything to contrary,” Arno quipped in reply. With a sigh, he said, “Shouldn’t we be briefing her on the situation?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Master Quemar said, pushing off the wall and stepping up to the map table. Looking at Naeva, he spoke. “A Templar by the name of Bastien Olivier has found a place for himself on the National Convention. Currently, the members of the Convention are trying to reform, expel and crush the Jacobins, and put together a new parliamentary government.”

“They’ll be voting for members to join what they’re calling _le Directoire_ and _Monsieur_ Olivier is in the perfect position to allow the Templar Order to get its foot in the door,” Beylier continued for Quemar. “We cannot let that happen. We cannot allow a repeat of the past five years. Not when Paris, and France as a whole, is still recovering.”

“So we sneak in, find out what the Templars are planning, and eliminate Olivier to get him out of office,” Arno finished, turning to look at ‘Madeline’. Something in his expression told her that he was looking for some sign of confirmation or acknowledgement, some way of knowing that while she was mute, she wasn’t dumb. In response, she nodded.

Naeva flicked her gaze over to _Madame_ Trenet, and saw the older woman’s face was completely devoid of any sign that there was anything amiss. However, one look at the Mentor’s clever eyes told her that inside she was laughing at her. Naeva wanted to scowl, but seeing as her expression wasn’t completely hidden from view, she forced herself to keep a straight face.

“Then we’re clear,” Arno announced, turning back to face Beylier as he stepped around the map table and came to stop before both Assassins. He looked to _Madame_ Trenet expectantly.

“Very well. Arno Dorian, Madeline LaFuente,” she began. “By order of this Council, I hereby task you to track down Bastien Olivier, learn his secrets, and bring him peace.”

Both Naeva and Arno bowed their heads to the Mentor and the other Masters before exiting the room. She walked ahead of him, her internal panic which had not subsided ushering her legs to move faster than usual. Exiting the antechamber, she heard him shut the door as he followed her out.

“Wait a moment,” he said before she could reach the stairs. She stopped and turned to look at him, mentally kicking herself for trying to get away too fast. He stepped over to her, one brow lifted in confusion. “Shouldn’t we plan where to meet up?”

Naeva sighed quietly. That was right. She knew the mission and what needed to be done, but she had forgotten to work out the logistics with her new partner. Her stomach flipped at the idea of being _partners_ with Arno. Two hours ago, she had been dead set on avoiding him and leaving him alone. Now, she was being forced to work alongside with him under an alias and pretend she couldn’t speak. Just as before, she nodded.

“Alright,” he started hesitantly, as though unsure. He was probably a bit leery that she would run again. “I live in the _Cafe Theatre_ , so we could rendezvous outside in the courtyard in, what, an hour? That should give us enough time to gather our gear.”

Naeva didn’t need an hour to get her gear; she was already armed to the teeth. But she could use the hour to get her bearings in this situation so she could at least accomplish the mission without any mishaps. She’d figure out how to untangle this mess later, and have a conversation with _Sophie_ about it as well. Again, she nodded.

“Very well then,” he apparent partner replied. “Outside the _Cafe Theatre_ in one hour.” And with that, he offered her the slightest sketch of a bow, turned on the heel of his boot, and strode off down the other set of stairs.

Naeva watched him go. Though it was more purposeful, his walk was much the same. While the light in his eyes had dimmed, he still exuded a certain cavalier swagger when he moved. He was still catlike and graceful. He must be marvelous to see in action…

Right. One hour.

\---

Arno, as she quickly discovered, was perhaps one of the most competent partners she could have asked for. Guillaume and Mel could never be knocked off their respective pedestals, but as partners went in this chapter of her life, Arno was close to the top.

And it wasn’t just because he was, well, _Arno_. His strategy had been sound from the start. Namely, they had begun with staking out the Estates-General where the National Convention was set to have a meeting that night.

“Do you have Eagle Vision?” he asked her. Playing into her guise, she cast him a bemused look that said all the words she couldn’t. She was mute not blind. “I’ll just assume that’s a yes.”

Crouching on the roof of whatever residence they had chosen as their vantage point, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and focused herself.

Reopening her eyes, the view of the Estates-General and the crowd milling inside of it was awash in varying shades of blue. Amidst all the dark blue forms of regular people and the angry crimson guards she spotted one golden figure pushing through the crowd at the entrance before it disappeared inside. Lifting her hand, she pointed.

“I see him,” he partner affirmed. “There’s people everywhere. We’ll have to sneak in and wait.” Naeva’s brow furrowed. They might not have the time they needed for that kind of plan. The constitution that the Convention had been working on for the last several months was not yet complete, but that could change at any moment. The voting could be starting at this very meeting.

Despite her partial dissent to this avenue of his plan, she straightened up and didn’t argue. She wasn’t quite willing to swallow her apprehension and reveal herself just yet. Gesturing for him to lead the way, she followed when he leapt from the roof and scaled down the walls of the building they had been standing on as well as the one next to it and landed in an alleyway.

Landing on her toes and rolling, she stood and loped to the entrance of the alley, checking to see if anyone was around. She had heard from Guillaume and Thomas that they had to get used to being stealthy once again as the Revolution had provided the opportunity for them to work in the open. Thankfully, it seemed that Arno had easily fallen back into the routine of stealth. He drew up behind her and peered around the corner as well, eyeing the assembly entering the Estates-General.

“Let’s move,” he said, stepping out in front of her and sprinting across the street to the wall that surrounded the U-shaped building. Likewise seeing no one watching, Naeva chased after him, not stopping until she reached the wall. She looked up, having never broken in here before. The wall was at least ten feet in height. She gritted her teeth, realizing what they would have to do if they didn’t want to go through the front gate and risk getting caught.

“All clear,” Arno whispered, turning to her. “We’ll have to scale it if we want to get inside without a fuss.” He turned to examine the wall, sizing it up like Naeva had a moment ago. “I’ll give you a boost,” he said, crouching down and doubling his hands to make a step he could lift her on. Naeva looked up again and frowned. There was no way she would be able to easily climb the sheer surface with just his hands for added height. She needed momentum. Glancing around him once more and then looking back the other way, finding both directions clear, she backed up a few yards.

Arno stared at her, confused for a moment, but his expression quickly shifted to surprise as she charged at him full speed. Picking up as much momentum as she could, she didn’t hesitate when she reached her partner and brought her foot up high enough to put the sole of her boot in his doubled palms. She caught the edge of his expression- shock, she noted -as she passed and he hauled her up into the air. Her left foot still in motion, she used it to kick herself up the wall just a bit more.

It was enough. Her stomach caught on the edge of the wall and the breath was knocked out of her, but it was enough. Glancing down, she saw that none of the guards that patrolled the inner perimeter were around and so crouched on the wall and turned back to Arno and waved for him to follow. She pantomimed that she would catch him, annoyed at not being able to use her voice.

_Well, how badly do you not want him to know who you are?_

The thought had _Madame_ Trenet’s voice. 

She pulled herself back to reality just as Arno, who had backed up a few more yards than she had, launched himself into the air and ran up the wall. She reached out to grab him and clasped onto his wrist, taking his weight in both hands as gravity kicked in. Hauling him high enough so that he could get a handhold on the wall and pull himself up the rest of the way, she released his arm and breathed deeply. Arno wasn’t exactly light as a feather.

He seemed a bit out of breath as well, and they took a moment to compose themselves before examining the wall of the building in front of them.

The sheer amount of decorative ridges, ledges, and balconies that covered it would make finding an entrance easy. It could also serve to make a more assured exit, as long as all sides could be counted on to have the same architecture.

“We go for one of the high windows. There’s fewer people on the upper floors, less chance of being caught,” Arno stated. Naeva nodded and looked down. It was a ten foot drop back to the ground, but if she landed right it wouldn’t be any trouble. Luckily, there were still no guards to contend with as of yet.

Hopping from their perch, she hit the ground on her toes and rolled again. Not wasting the forward momentum, she darted behind some shrubbery clustered at the base of the building. Behind her, she heard Arno tumble in the grass and follow. Once she confirmed he was with her, they began to climb the wall as quickly as possible.

The climb was not terribly long, and they made good progress which discounted any time they wasted being forced to stop and wait for any who might have seen them to pass by. Reaching the upper floor, Naeva gripped the sill they had stopped on and kept watch as Arno attempted to jimmy the window open. It was obvious he had done such a thing many times as the process only took a couple seconds and the pane swung out, giving the pair of Assassins access to the upper floor of the Estates-General.

Stepping into the empty hallway, Naeva scanned the area for a moment in search of threats. Finding none, she eased her stance and waited for Arno.

“Let’s find a good view of the hall,” he said and Naeva nodded in acknowledgement, deferring to him when it came to knowing his way around the building. She’d been deferring to him a lot during this mission. Whether that was because she refused to speak remained to be seen, though his direction was indeed quite sound.

Following him until they found a good balcony view of the debate hall below, they stopped and looked down at the crowd. Naeva was suddenly assaulted with a sense of deja vu. Five years, she had been lost in that crowd down there, looking for the very man who stood at her side now.

She should be focusing.

Inhaling deeply, she pushed the thoughts away and closed her eyes, reopening them to activate her Eagle Vision. Watching the blue outlines of the people beneath them, the golden figure of Bastien Olivier stood out like a sore thumb. She pointed again.

“I see him,” Arno replied likewise again.

Their target, blessedly, was a shifty character. He couldn’t stand still in the crowd, but he also seemed like he had another purpose. He edged his way through the crowd and eventually stepped into the outer hall, and Naeva could see the outline of his form- flanked by a pair of guards that joined him -ascend a staircase.

“There’s hardly anyone but a few guards on the second floor,” Arno whispered. “If we can get down there quietly, we might be able to ambush him.”

They would have to contend with Olivier’s escorts, as well as with whatever other guards were alerted when they sprang the ambush. Naeva wouldn’t have launched such a plan when she was on her own, but she’d done similar ones when she was with Mel, Cass, and Shona. Nodding once, she followed him as they returned to the window and climbed back outside, replacing the pane to its original position and latching it shut.

They scaled down a story and peered inside the hall, seeing no one. Once again, Arno unlatched the pane and opened it, letting Naeva step through the window first. Again, she scanned the room they entered, though this time- because of the greater number of walls -she took an extra moment to look around using her Eagle Vision.

A second later she was glad she did, as a guard was coming from another room. Darting away from the window, she took up a position with her back against the entry wall and waited for the man to come around the corner. She listened to the footsteps coming around the corner and watched his shadow get darker as he approached.

Finally, his shoe passed the threshold and she flicked her wrist back, unsheathing her hidden blade, and stabbed forward with it just as they rest of him was coming in to view. He sputtered quietly and she slapped a hand over his mouth to silence him as he fell from the sudden blow. Removing her blade and hand, she reached under his arms and dragged him over to a nearby chair. Dropping him into the seat, she picked up his bayonet and propped it up beside him. To anyone who spotted him at first glance, he looked like he was merely sleeping on his watch.

It wasn’t foolproof, but it had bought her and her team some time in the past.

Turning back to face Arno, she found him staring at her and the guard. Jogging back to him, she gestured for them to continue on. Her partner seemed like he was left a bit off balance by her display of skill, though he hadn’t seen much as of yet.

She wondered how he would have reacted knowing her true identity. Setting her jaw, she pushed the idea out of her mind and forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand.

“He’s entered a side room, we can catch him. This way,” Arno said, charging off silently through the parlor. She followed his lead, running when he ran, sneaking whenever they came across the occasional person.

Finally, they reached a closed door and Arno stopped with an annoyed sigh. He cursed under his breath. “He’s just through here, but I’m certain the door’s locked,” he said. “We can’t break in and risk him calling for the guards unless we want every Templar on the floor biting at our heels.”

Naeva almost laughed at the memory that surfaced; Arno in the apple orchard, running for his life from a pair of guard dogs. However, she preoccupied herself with figuring out a way past the door. Glancing to her left, she saw the window was already ajar. Lightly hitting Arno on his shoulder to get his attention, she pointed out the helpfully open window.

“Good idea,” Arno said with a smirk of approval. “We’ll sneak around him and slip in from behind.”

And so, the next leg of their plan went off without a hitch.

The window to the parlor that Olivier currently resided in opened silently, and the floorboards underneath the sill did not creak either. Crouched low, as though she were read to pounce at a moment’s notice, Naeva crept forward towards the settee where Olivier sat reading a document of some kind. That might be useful.

She waited until the last possible moment to unsheath her hidden blade, when she was so close she was certain that he would feel her breath on his neck, or hear the sound of her footsteps on the floor. When he heard the small noise it made, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Before he could whirl around to see who was behind him, she straightened up and clapped her right hand over his mouth and hovered her left wrist above his neck. She lightly pressed the edge of her blade to his throat as he struggled, silently warning him not to move. Olivier stilled in her grasp.

“ _Monsieur_ Bastien Olivier,” Arno began, speaking lowly so the guards outside would not be alerted to their presence. “I believe you may be able to help us.” He signalled Naeva to release his mouth. She hesitated a moment, knowing that Olivier would have to speak, but also that he would likely call for his escort as soon as he got the chance. Even so, she slowly uncovered his mouth and the man gasped for breath.

As soon as he had his second wind, he sputtered angrily. “I won’t tell you anything, Assassin!” he spat. Arno smirked, only his lower face visible in the low-lighting of the room.

“You won’t have to,” he said.

And then it all went to hell.

“ _Guards!_ ” Olivier yelled as Naeva tried to clamp her hand back over his mouth to regain control of her captive. He struggled against her grasp, but she pulled against him with all her weight. Seeing her issue, Arno leapt forward, his arm wound back and hidden blade unsheathed. Releasing Olivier just before Arno could drive the blade into him, Naeva jumped back to avoid being stabbed herself. It sank into the Templar’s front with a sickening noise, and their target drooped as Arno lowered him to the floor.

However, the deed was done. The two guards rushed through the door at Olivier’s shout and spotted the two Assassins- one in the process of murdering the man they were tasked to protect and the other turning to shove a document into her coat. One of the two yelled for backup while the other leveled his bayonet at Naeva.

Thinking fast, she leapt over the settee Olivier been sitting on and crouched on the floor as a shot rang out and a bullet flew over her head. There was the sound of a sword being drawn and then grunts of pain. As she got back to her feet, she was met with the sight of Arno kneeling over their target’s lifeless body, closing his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he inquired. No pain aside from where she had fallen on her side on the floor, and the only blood on her coat and gloves was Olivier’s. She nodded. “Good,” Arno replied, straightening. “Let’s get out of here.”

Before they could turn back to the window they had entered through, the doors on either side of the room banged open and guards poured in, eliminating the windows in that room as an option. Feeling cornered, she pressed up against Arno’s back as he faced the enemies behind her. But the door was open where the two escort guards had entered, and lay dead in the threshold.

Kicking his ankle with her heel to get his attention, Naeva darted out into the hallway, dodging a few bullets as the guards with bayonets fired. Grabbing a chair from beside the door, she pulled it out, slammed the door shut behind her, shoved the ornate piece of furniture up under the handle, and took off running. From the footsteps matching pace with her, she knew that Arno was hot on her heels as she raced down the hall. They just had to find an unlocked room with an open window and they would be home free.

Six guards pounded up the stairs, swords drawn, and Naeva skidded to a stop as they lined up in front of her. Drawing her sword, she was ready to fight. With an impressive battle cry, the six men charged her and Arno.

She parried the first strikes before going on the offensive and attacking her share of opponents. One of the first things Hugo had taught her when she was in Marseille was how to fend off multiple opponents at once. Her attention was divided and focused all at once, calculating the moves of each man as they made their strikes. She parried again and then stabbed. One down, two to go.

Ducking as another blade swiped cleanly toward her neck, she stretched her leg out and kicked the second guard’s feet out from under him and knocking him off balance. Close as they were to the stairs, he fell backwards down the steps. Two down, one to go. The odds were even.

Her last opponent was much more difficult to defeat. He was more wary of her than the other two had been, and didn’t rush the fight. He was skilled with the sword, and could parry Naeva’s strikes while delivering ripostes that jostled her to her bones. He feinted a strike and she overcompensated, allowing him to catch her in a headlock- the only thing keeping her from being decapitated having been her sharp reflexes and the bracer her hidden blade was strapped to. He clamped a hand over her mouth and began to drag it downwards as she struggled. While attempting to twist out of his grip, she happened to spot Arno fighting off two guards at once.

He drove his sword into one of them at last, but the second had come up behind him and was about to-

_No!_

Writhing in her captor’s grip, she angled her chin down and sank her teeth into the hand that was trying to cover her mouth. He yelled in pain an suddenly she was free.

“ _Arno, derrière toi!_ ”

She didn't bother to register the consequences of the words leaving her mouth until Arno had heeded the warning and slashed at his opponent with his hidden blade. He turned and looked at her with shocked eyes and a confused expression. She spat, an awful taste filling her mouth, and then swallowed nervously upon realizing what she'd done. Perhaps she should focus elsewhere. Turning around, her sword raised, she saw him gripping one hand with the other, a bite mark visible from his thumb nearly to his wrist. He looked up with a growl.

“Why you little,” he snarled, bearing down on Naeva. Determinedly, she lifted her blade and continued to fight him, bracing herself as she parried his blows and directing her strikes with all her strength.

Finally, she gained the upper hand. Whirling to avoid one of his strikes, Naeva unsheathed her hidden blade and- quick as a bee could sting -jabbed him in the throat.

Flicking her wrist again to sheath her blade once more, she watched as he dropped to the floor, dead. “May you have peace,” she muttered through pursed lips. Turning, she was met with a shell-shocked looking Arno standing a few yards away from her.

Too late she remembered that her mask had been torn away during the fighting. Fear rose up in her gut and she swallowed. Now she stood before him, unveiled at last for what she was. And his reaction?

Recognition sparked in his eyes and he took a step closer, as though he almost didn’t believe what he was seeing. “Naeva?” he whispered.

She cringed before offering what she hoped came off as an apologetic smile and not a pained grimace. “Surprise.”

His brow twitched in his confusion. “What are you-”

It was all he got to say. A small legion of guards poured out of the hall behind him and her eyes widened. “No time, we have to go!” she shouted, turning tail and running. There had to be a way out of here. “I’ll explain later!”

He chased after her, much to her relief, instead of standing frozen in the hall like a sitting duck. She found a staircase to the third floor and took the steps two at a time, using the rail to haul herself up faster. Finding an open window, she climbed out onto the roof of the building. It seemed they were not in the right place. However, they had enough of a head start.

Charging across the roof, Arno having caught up with her, they raced to the edge of the building and leapt, landing in a roll on another nearby roof, guards yelling and cursing behind them.

“Let’s keep going, we have to get back to the Sanctuary,” she said. No use pretending she was mute now.

“Wait,” Arno panted behind her. “Wait. Let’s stop somewhere else first.”

Naeva paused and looked back at him, unsure.

“Please,” he murmured.

Sighing, she nodded her consent, and he continued forward, leading the way to their unknown destination.

~oOo~

They didn’t stop until Arno had led her far away from the Estates-General, to another non-descript rooftop of an empty building. By the time Arno came to a halt, they had been moving silently at a more relaxed pace and Naeva didn’t need much time to catch her breath.

During the walk, she had been grateful for his silence, but she worried that it meant something. Did it precede an explosion? Was he angry? She didn’t doubt that he was confused, but it was unlike Arno to be silent when he was confused. 

Well, the Arno she remembered, at least.

He didn’t speak right away once they stopped, either, and he kept his back to her. All she could see in the darkness were his shoulders as they rose and fell steadily with his breathing. Naeva waited in silence, not feeling particularly willing to break the pause, but uncomfortable even so.

“I’m sure you have questions,” she began, fiddling with her hands nervously. “What am I doing here? Have I gone mad? Why am I an Assassin?” Before she could continue to offer up veins of questioning, he finally turned to her and looked at her in a way sent a shock of pain straight to her heart.

“Where have you been?” he breathed, stepping closer to her. She could make out the hurt in his voice, the lump in his throat, the relief in his eyes, and suddenly tears were forming.  
_Imbecile, you cry far too often_ , she chided herself mentally. _What’s wrong with you?_

“Not here,” she answered him jokingly, fighting to keep her eyes from leaking. “Marseille. I returned to Paris about a month ago. What about you?”

“I’ve been here,” he replied.

“Last I heard you were in the Bastille. Obviously you escaped,” she said. “What’s happened since then?”

Arno sighed. “So much,” he told her. “So terribly much.” He pursed his lips and looked away. “I returned to the Estate to try and find you and Elise, but she was the only one there.”

Ah. Of course he would have sought out her sister. She gazed out at the city below them. _He said he was looking for me too, though_.

She would not get her hopes up.

“And what did Elise tell you?” she inquired, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She looked back at him and immediately vowed to try harder. At the mention of her sister, he looked stricken, as though the memory of her had become tainted in some way. Where was her sister anyway? She would have to ask him later.

Again, standing death threat or no, she at least needed the closure of having one last interaction with Elise.

“She told me you went back to Venice after the funeral,” he said. “That you had gone back to complete your education and join the Templars there.”

“Why didn’t you come find me?” she asked, hoping to come off playful.

He turned to look at her, sadness and regret filling his eyes. He grimaced. “I had just learned of the Assassins and Templars. I feared that, if I found you, I would have to kill you.”

She heard the unspoken ‘ _and I couldn’t do that_ ’ that hung in the air at the end of his sentence.

“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” she muttered in reply.

“What happened, Naeva?” he asked. “How are you an Assassin now?”

“Its a long story,” she said.

“I won’t be going back to the Sanctuary until you tell me,” he stated, sitting down on the edge of the roof. Naeva sighed. She had been hoping he would just accept her tale of the last five years in short bursts. Sadly, as he stared up at her, she knew it was not to be.

Lowering herself down to the edge of the roof, she drew one knee up to her chest and let her other leg hang off the roof. “Where should I begin?” she asked him.

“Probably...Probably after my arrest,” he said, pausing to think of the correct way to phrase that sentence. Gathering her thoughts, she took a deep breath and began to recount her memories from that time forward.

Reliving the beginning of her journey was painful, like picking at a scar that was not yet fully healed. However, despite how much she would rather leave the past where it belonged- namely, behind her -she did owe him an explanation.

“What Elise told you was a complete lie,” she began. “The day of your sentencing, she exploded. We had been getting along fine until then, but then she...she found the note.” She paused, glancing at his face in time to catch him wincing. She swallowed and continued. “Elise was upset to say the least and I angered her, as I always have, so she banished me. I was exiled from the House of Serre and she threatened to kill me if I ever returned.”

She explained her brief time spent floating in the aether with little to no direction, and how she decided to petition the Assassins for help and in doing so renounced the Templars and joined the Brotherhood. She told him about meeting her friends, _Madame_ Trenet’s proposition, and going to Marseille.

“I trained there with three other girls around my age,” she told him, smiling affectionately as she glossed over the details of her missions. “ _Madame_ Trenet wanted us to learn in a safer environment and Marseille was perfect. I stayed there until she deemed we were ready to be reassigned.

“The rest of my unit moved to America, but I decided to come back here,” she finished. “And that is my story.” She glanced over at Arno, who looked as though he was considering her words. 

“What brought you back, though? You sound like you’re fond of your unit. Why would you leave them?” he commented at last, locking his brown eyes with her hazel ones. She looked away and shrugged.

“I suppose I felt drawn here. Paris- France -is my home. I couldn’t just leave, not after I had done nothing during the Revolution,” she said. It was a good excuse. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his eyebrow rise up his forehead.

“But?” he prompted.

“‘But’ nothing,” she replied, and then, sighing, she lowered her head. “Alright fine, I admit it. I was worried.” Looking over at him, she saw his other eyebrow shoot up as well in surprise. “Arno, I hadn’t had any contact with you in five years. Last I heard, the Bastille was being blasted with cannons. I thought...I thought you might be dead.”

“And you didn’t bother to try and rescue me?” he asked, playfully nudging Naeva in the arm. “What, eighteen years of friendship and absolutely no loyalty?”

Naeva rolled her eyes, remembering her comment from five years past. “The _plan_ ,” she said wryly, “was to become an Assassin so I could rescue your sorry backside from the Bastille, _crétin_. I just wasn’t expecting such a dire shift in the timetable.” She looked away and swung her hanging leg, letting the heel of her boot kick the wall of the building she was sitting on. “Besides, that was when people were still treating me like a child, so I didn’t have much say in the matter.”

Arno shrugged. “It turned out alright in the end,” he assured her. “Bellec helped me get out of there, invited me to join the Assassins and return to my heritage.” Naeva looked back at him questioningly.

“Bellec? Pierre Bellec?” she asked. “As in the man who murdered Mentor Mirabeau?”

He nodded. “The same,” he said and she saw his eyes harden. “He was my mentor while I was training. It was my mission to uncover who murdered Mirabeau, so it was my duty to subdue Bellec.”

Naeva let the subject drop both on hearing his voice lose some of its strength as well as remembering that Bellec hadn’t been “subdued” he’d been executed- and from the sound of things, it had been Arno’s job to do the deed.

Her heart went out to him then. She’d had her fair share of frustrations and hurdles to get past on her road to becoming an Assassin, but Arno had experienced them a hundred fold it seemed. He had lost his blood father, as well as his adoptive father- her father -whom he had loved just as much. He had his teacher, as well as Mirabeau from the sound of it as he spoke the man’s name in a kinder tone. As it was, it didn’t seem as though her sister featured in the picture currently. Everyone he cared about disappeared, it seemed.

Suddenly, she wanted to hold his hand, cling to it and tell him she wasn’t going anywhere.

She shook the notion off, though, when at length he spoke again. “It’s good to see you, Naeva,” he breathed. “I never thought I’d see you again, and I’ve missed you.”

Trying to keep her shock out of her features, she met his gaze once more. “And I missed you, Arno,” she replied. “You were perhaps my closest friend, and I can’t describe how terrible it felt to even think that you could be dead. To hear that you were alive and an Assassin was such a relief.”

He cracked one of his old half-smiles at her then, dark eyes glittering in the moonlight. She caught hints of nostalgia and affection warming his gaze as he watched her for a long moment and she allowed a small smile to flicker its way onto her own features. After a long moment, she broke his eye contact, unsure how much more of his doe-eyed stare she could take.

“We should really get back to the Sanctuary,” she announced, rising to her feet. “ _Madame_ Trenet sent us on a mission and she’ll surely want the results as soon as possible.”

“How awful for her to have to look in the _journaux_ for news of Olivier’s assassination,” he said flippantly as he stood. She gave him an almost reproachful smirk.

“Be nice,” she chided. “That would be my mentor you’re talking about.”

He breathed a laugh and smiled broadly, the first grin she had seen from him in...years, not counting their separation. She saw the hesitant mirth in his eyes, which had been so dull earlier in the evening it pained her to look at them. Once again, they were bright, even if the shine had faded over the years. Beneath everything that had happened to him, the Arno she remembered was still buried deep down. She was glad.

“What?” she asked. He _was_ staring at her after all, even if it was mutual. He shook his head and stepped forward. Closing the gap between them, he reached out and pulled Naeva into his arms, holding her close and tight as though she would disappear if he let her slip free.

“I really have missed you, Naeva,” he whispered into her hair. In response, feeling more tears on the rise if she wasn’t careful, she closed her eyes and buried her face in her shoulder, winding her arms under his and pressing him to her.

“I missed you too,” she breathed in reply.

What she would give to stay in that moment forever; just the two of them, alone on some roof lost somewhere in the city, letting the past fall away for a moment like it didn’t matter because they were together again. However, as much as she would like to follow his lead and ignore them, they both had responsibilities to take care of.”

When he pulled back from the embrace, she offered him a charming lopsided smile she had borrowed from Mel. “Duty calls,” she announced. “We ought to head back now, regardless of how you think _Madame_ Trenet should hear the news.”

“Well, she _likes_ you,” he retorted, following her as she made her way to the edge of the roof.

“She’d like you too if you actually did what you were told,” she replied. Smiling to herself, she leapt off the roof and began the long run back to whatever entrance to the Assassin City they could find.

_Just like old times_ , she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay they've been reunited!!  
> Again I'm _so_ sorry that it took this long for me to actually kick this chapter out. When I realized that I hadn't posted anything since JuLY I had a conniption. So, hopefully if all goes well I will be able to post on time for the next two, maybe three or four weeks.  
>  I apologize to anyone who enjoyed this fic, I understand how... _annoying_ it can be to wait for an author to update. I thank you all for your patience, though its entirely undeserved.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Arno, derrière toi!: Arno, behind you! (or something to that effect)
> 
> crétin: Jerk, idiot (as well as various other insulting names)
> 
> Journaux: newspaper


	10. Chapter X: Hinc Illae Lacrimae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 1794: The government is still reforming. After tip-toeing around the subject for some time, Naeva and Arno finally take the opportunity to catch up with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary makes this chapter sound a lot less...emotional than it is. I guess. This chapter probably needs a _lot_ of editing just because writing emotional scenes isn't exactly my thing.  
>  Odd considering how much Naeva cries???  
> Anyway, on with the story!

**Chapter X: Hinc Illae Lacrimae**

_Translation: Hence Those Tears_

_Paris  
23 November, 1794_

“Naeva, please,” Thomas begged, sliding out of his seat and getting down on his knees beside her chair, hands folded pleadingly. She stared at him with a single brow raised imperiously. “How. How are you so good at this?”

She snorted and burst into laughter. “I told you,” she replied, between breaths. “I had a good teacher.”

Thomas slumped, dropping his head against the arm of her chair. Reaching over with an amused smile, Naeva patted his head. “There, there,” she said, consoling her friend’s bruised ego. “Perhaps one day you’ll beat me.”

“Will you ever stop mocking my skills?” he asked.

“Not until they actually start showing improvement,” she answered.

Thomas sighed and cursed under his breath before he straightened up and looked at her dejectedly for a moment, pouting childishly. She smirked and raised her brows, telling him he would get no sympathy from her.

Folding her arms over her chest, she sat back in her chair as Thomas got to his feet and moved back to his own place and collapsed heavily and overdramatically into his seat.

“Want to try your hand again?” she asked innocently, reaching forward to gather up the cards and shuffle them. He cast her a bemused look.

“I don’t think he needs any more proof that you’re the Queen of Pharaoh,” Guillaume put in from where he sat with his nose in a newspaper. “He’s just the last one to acknowledge it.”

“One day I will meet this teacher of yours,” Thomas stated. “I will meet this man and force him to play you so you actually lose for once.”

“You’ve already met him,” a new voice from the doorway interjected. Naeva smiled at the sound of confident footsteps on the floorboards as the owner of the voice approached and leaned up against her chair. “I taught her to play.”

Thomas reeled in his seat and gripped the armrests, looking scandalized. “ _You?_ ” he exclaimed. “But I’ve beaten you before.” Naeva shrugged, looking up at the man who had taught her the foundation for her skills.

“What can I say?” she asked. “I improved over the years.”

“Who were you playing with?” Arno asked with a wry expression as he moved past the card table and sat down in the chair beside Thomas’.

“Marseille’s finest,” she replied as though it were obvious.

“And did you best all of them as well?” he inquired.

“Eventually.”

She held his challenging gaze for a long moment, each waiting for the other to blink, while Thomas and a newly interested Guillaume looked between them. It had been a surprise for Naeva’s friends to learn that she and Arno- the fourth member of their unit -had known each other prior to becoming Assassins.

Over the last couple weeks, they had fallen into their old routine of friendly bickering and the mutual exchange of insults. They had begun to argue comedically over small issues just for the sake of bantering, much to the bewilderment of their friends. Naeva had been forced to explain to Guillaume that Arno had been like a brother to her (and she refused to admit to anything more than that).

“You wouldn’t be opposed to a match, then?” Arno asked with a confident smirk. Replying with one of her own, Naeva set the shuffled deck of playing cards on the table between them and sat back.

“Looks like I don’t have much choice,” she said. “Will you be the banker or shall I?”

Arno grinned. “I suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing a lady the bad habit of gambling,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“ _Au contraire_ ,” Naeva replied. “It was far more entertaining than anything else my father would have had me amuse myself with. Certainly more fun than spending time getting my backside handed to me on a silver platter by Elise.”

Immediately, Arno’s good humor fell away, replaced by a look of hurt which was not directed Naeva’s way. She cringed inwardly, mentally slapping herself for bringing up her sister. It hadn’t taken more than a day to discern that Elise was a sore subject and even the slightest mention of her sent Arno spiralling into a blue funk for an hour at least. She pursed her lips, uncertain how to backpedal from the situation she had just created.

She couldn’t forget that while so much was the same, so many things were different now. Naeva had heard once from Mel that not all scars appear on a person’s skin; sometimes they are branded on a person’s mind or heart. And frankly, she believed that. She saw how Arno put up his usual good-natured front for her, but once in a while she caught glimpses of the deeply hurt and perhaps emotionally wounded man he kept hidden beneath the facade.

That was not to say that she didn’t know him anymore. Arno’s core personality remained at the very least similar to how he had been prior to the mess that had thrown them into their current situation. However, most other things had changed or had been altered slightly from his experiences. She had seen from their work together on missions that he had become wiser, more calculating and slow to act rather than careless and quick to take a shortcut. His dry wit made fewer appearances, making his words a bit less harsh and his jests funnier.

But the fact remained that she felt confined when speaking to him, that she needed to tip-toe and watch for pitfalls, as though anything could accidentally trigger something behind those dark eyes and cause shadows to blanket his face.

Silence pervaded the room, Thomas and Guillaume sensing the tension in the air and glancing between the childhood friends as the good cheer vanished. Naeva wished she could crawl under a rock and die. _Why did she have to say that?_

She had been meaning to approach the subject at a good time at some point in the future, hoping to learn just what her sister had done to Arno that would make him so depressed. She was concerned for him, and wished to help however she could, but she didn’t know how to begin that conversation, so she had avoided it. He had already suffered enough, and she didn’t want to make it any worse.

 _You’ve really stepped in it this time, de la Serre_ , she thought. She’d made it worse alright, and she hated herself for it.

At length, she heard Arno take a deep breath across from her and then he turned, looking across the card table at her. Naeva waited with bated breath to see if he would get up and walk out of the room the way he had come, leaving her to stew over her words in misery.

Instead, he sat forward and glanced at Thomas. “Would you mind if I borrow Naeva for a few minutes?” he asked. 

Thomas, ever ready to break the ice in tense situations shrugged. “Sure,” he replied. “I don’t really care to lose to her again today, so feel free.” Arno turned his head to look at Guillaume who was pretending not to be paying attention. The older man met his eyes and nodded.

“I don’t have a problem with it. She’s not a child,” he said flippantly.

If she were younger, Naeva would have beamed at him for acknowledging her as an adult legitimately capable of making her own decisions. However, in this situation, she merely waited for Arno to rise and gesture for her to accompany him.

What followed was another long and silent trek to whatever quiet place her friend had in mind to speak with her privately. She knew what was coming, and dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. She still wasn’t sure if she was ready for this conversation. How would she ask her questions? It would leave Arno hurt and vulnerable to do so, but would it be better to settle the matter now than to allow it to cause a distance between them?

Naeva had just gotten him back, much to her joy, and she didn’t want to part ways with him so soon because of misunderstandings.

As they exited the Sanctuary, her mood was not improved by the day’s countenance. The sky was overcast, a non-metaphorical storm threatening to overtake the city soon. Regardless, it didn’t bode well for their conversation.

Trailing Arno as he stealthily made his way through the streets and up and down the sides of buildings, she finally figured out where they were when he came to a stop on the roof of the _Hôtel de Ville_.

Climbing to the topmost balcony of the central tower, he finally seemed ready to talk. As ready as he’d ever be, at least. Naeva waited in silence, letting the wind cool her face and blow her unbraided hair. Sighing, she looked at Arno and opened her mouth to speak. She owed him an apology.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hugging herself. “I didn’t mean to offend or hurt you in any way.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied immediately, just short of cutting her off. “It’s mine. I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you since our reunion.”

Naeva’s brows knitted in concern. It wasn’t like she didn’t know that he hadn’t told her everything, including something as crucial as whatever it was that had wounded him so. Instead of commenting on it, she said, “What is it? I could tell there was something wrong, but I’ve been too afraid to ask.”

“Why?” he inquired, looking genuinely confused and concerned. She supposed that might have been because, as a child, she had never hesitated to ask him questions- and he had never hesitated in answering. Of course, none of the questions she had ever asked had had the propensity to be quite as painful as what she needed to ask now.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she replied. It was obvious that so much as breathing with the idea of talking about Elise was enough to make Arno downcast, and she didn’t want to reopen wounds he was so obviously trying to heal.

“Its alright,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “It may hurt, but I’ve been through worse.” She pursed her lips on hearing that statement, her heart breaking for him all over again. The Arno she had known was proud and overconfident, prone to being reckless and caring too much. The man she saw now was the badly bruised shadow left behind by the consequences. 

Just thinking of what she knew he had lost, it was a lot. She couldn’t imagine how much he had lost that she didn’t know about.

Taking a deep breath, she dove in. “What happened with my sister?” she asked, as quietly as the wind would allow.

Arno, to his credit, didn’t flinch upon hearing mention of Elise, but he still turned to her with a pained grimace. Stepping toward the rail of the balcony, he nodded to the district laid out in front of them, _Ventre de Paris_ if she remembered correctly. “It may be best if I explain by showing you,” he said.

Nodding, she followed him as he scaled down the building and they walked out onto the street. They were in the _Halle_ subdistrict it seemed, market stalls were set up in every feasible space with just enough room for avenues to form between them. Merchants peddled their goods and wares loudly to passersby. Across the way, the _Grand Châtelet_ loomed ominously over the square.

Perhaps to fit in with the crowd despite the difference in how they were dressed, or to keep her from getting lost, Arno took her hand in his as he guided her through the streets. She couldn’t feel the warmth of his hands through the gloves they both wore, but she felt his strength. Though she had grown since the last time he had held her hand, his still enveloped hers easily.

However, even after they had left the crowd and journeyed into the next district, he didn’t let go of her hand.

In fact, he didn’t let go of her hand until they reached a relatively short wall and he led her through a pair of rusted iron gates and she realized where they were.

_No._

_No. Please no._

_Please, God, no._

Her prayer was futile, however as he guided her around a vaguely familiar corner and she was met with the sight of two nearly identical headstones- one older and weatherworn, and the other new and surrounded with flowers.

Tears blurred her vision as she struggled to read and comprehend the epitaph on the newer grave as she had already seen the one on the older headstone.

_Elise de la Serre  
1768 - 1794_

Tears leaking down her cheeks as she blinked them away, Naeva felt a tidal wave of shock come crashing down on her. As though it were physical, she dropped to her knees amongst the weeds that had grown at the base of the nearly identical graves.

There was so much that she had wanted to settle with her sister. Regardless of what had happened in the past and who they had been at one time, she wanted to see Elise again. She knew it would be irrational to hope that her sister wouldn’t try to kill her on sight, but she wanted the closure of seeing her sister and not being afraid, possibly even being her sister’s equal.

And despite everything she had ever done to her, Naeva still recognized Elise as her sister, her only remaining flesh and blood. Now she was gone.

_No._

\---

Arno watched as Naeva sank to her knees on the ground, her body shuddering as she wept at her sister’s grave. He stood beside her, guarding her vulnerable form as she took the moment to process what he was certain was shock. He felt guilt and wretchedness twist up his insides at the sight. This was his fault.

He should have told her that first night, the first time Elise had come up. Yet again, he’d been selfish and avoided telling her because he wished to spare himself the pain. Ever since, he’d been trying to rationalize his motives for not doing so. Naeva and Elise had never gotten along, so he feared her natural reaction would be happiness on discovering her sister’s death.

It was, admittedly, as much a relief as it was a surprise to see her current reaction. Her tears were unexpected, but now he had someone to commiserate with. Naeva had never loved her sister- Elise had never allowed her the chance -but he sensed that she mourned her loss genuinely even so.

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I...I should have told you before.”

“It’s alright,” she replied, straightening her back where she knelt before what remained of her family. “I understand why you didn’t. You were always close to Elise.”

Pursing his lips uncomfortably, Arno looked away. It had been a lot more than just ‘close’ in his opinion, but Naeva didn’t need to know that. She had been a young teen when they had initiated their romantic relationship, and had likely been oblivious.

“That’s a gross understatement, I know, but you were far closer to her than me.”

_Apparently not_. Sighing, he moved to her side and crouched next to her, if only to offer her any comfort his presence might give her.

Despite the fact that she had initially been reticent to show herself to him out of fear of his reaction, she seemed pleased to have him back in her life. Multiple times she had sought his company when they weren’t on missions and had struck up opportunities for banter and playful arguments that had baffled their friends. On top of everything, it seemed she had a vicious winning streak at Pharaoh.

“I just...I can’t believe she’d gone,” Naeva said between shuddering breaths. Reaching up with one gloved hand, she wiped at the tears that were tracking lines down her cheeks. “Elise always seemed so indestructible.” She turned to look at him and his heart was breaking all over again. Despite the darker hair and eyes, she looked almost like an exact mirror image of the woman he had loved with all his heart and soul.

“You’re right,” he replied, fighting to keep any tears he might have left back where they belonged. “She forced me to believe that she was invincible and not waste my breath trying to protect her. I wish she hadn’t.”

Naeva seemed to gather herself, inhaling shakily and swallowing. “Arno, I don’t wish to cause you any more pain,” she croaked, “but I need to know what happened. What happened to my sister?”

Pursing his lips, he sighed again and glanced briefly at the headstone he had spent the last few months decorating with tears and flowers. Overhead, thunder rumbled and the first few drops of rain fell from the sky. “I believe this should wait until we’re somewhere indoors,” he replied gently.

This time, it was not his own cowardice that prompted him to stall in explaining the past to Naeva. Once again, thunder rolled above their heads more insistently. They needed to get inside quickly. He could think of at least one safe place where he could tell Naeva what she wanted to know.

~oOo~

Rain was coming down on them in sheets when they entered the _Cafe Theatre_ , drenched and soaked to the bone. Naeva kept her hood down low, even as water soaked through the material and dripped from the beaked tip. A few patrons sat at booths and tables here and there, stragglers waiting for the rain to die down. As though they knew better than to question the two oddly dressed characters who washed in through the door, none of them looked up.

Arno paused at the kitchen where _Madame_ Gouze- the _Cafe’s_ manager stood and spoke with her quietly for a moment. Naeva saw her eyes flicker up to glance at her for half a second before turning her attention back to Arno. Their conversation seemed to run its course when she gave him a nod and turned on her heel to go back into the kitchen in a bustle of skirts.

Face still somber as it had been when they left the cemetery, Arno returned to her side and reached for her hand again. Numbly, she followed after him as he wove between tables and headed for the back hallway. 

Hidden in the corridor was the familiar set of stairs that led down to the Sanctuary. However, when she moved to go to the entrance, he pulled her in the opposite direction, towards the stairs at the other end of the hall which led to the upper floor of the _Cafe Theatre_. She paused and looked at him questioningly, but only saw concern and sadness in his eyes.

“You don’t have to go down there yet if you don’t want to,” he said gently. Naeva stared at him for a long moment, something in his words resonating with her. He was offering a sanctuary above ground, in the apartment above the _Cafe_. It sounded much more palatable than being forced to parade her still-raw emotions in front of the whole brotherhood. She nodded and continued after him.

The _Cafe Theatre_ was not a huge building, so Arno’s apartment took up a decent portion of the upper floor. It in itself wasn’t large, but it was very nice- similarly decorated to the standard rooms the Assassins used below if a bit more personalized.

He shut the door behind them and came up to Naeva quietly, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. “I asked _Madame_ Gouze to send up some hot water for you to take a bath. I’ll get a change of clothes and go below. I’m sure Gil wouldn’t mind me using his bath.

“I’ve instructed _Madame_ not to allow entrance to any new patrons, and to turn out the current ones as soon as the rain allows,” he explained. It seemed that he had taken care of everything. Hearing nothing out of order, she nodded in response, hugging herself tight as the chill from the rain finally ran through her completely and she shivered hard.

“Alright. I’ll be back in an hour or two,” Arno said, giving her shoulder a squeeze before moving to gather up a fresh change of clothes from the chest of drawers that stood beside his bed.

Folding the garments haphazardly in his arms, he kicked the drawers shut and then stepped over to Naeva again. “I promise I’ll tell you everything as soon as I get back,” he told her. “Just try to get warm and cleaned up.”

Again, she nodded mutely, and he pursed his lips, brows drawing together in concern. Giving a short nod of his own, he moved past her and out the door, closing it gently behind him. And then Naeva was alone in the quiet bedroom, the only sound being the rain as it thundered against the roof and slid down the window panes in rivulets.

Unsure what to do, she simply continued to stand in the middle of the space, her body wracked with shudders as the rain water soaked her to the bone. These were Arno’s rooms and she was in no state of mind to go upsetting her friend’s comfortable and surprisingly well-organized habit.

Her solitude was short lived, however, when a hesitant knock at the door heralded the entrance of _Madame_ Gouze with two buckets of steaming hot water and a kitchen maid behind her with two more. She offered Naeva a greeting and a half-curtsey before heading for the bath and dumping the hot water into the bathtub. She and the maid laid out towels, and checked the water basin to see if the water was fresh and then made to leave the room.

“Take your time washing up, _Mademoiselle_ ,” the older woman told her in passing. “I’ll come check up on you in an hour. If he comes back before you’re out of the tub, I’ll make _Monsieur_ Dorian stay downstairs.” Offering her a wink- which fairly went over Naeva’s head -she left the room and shut the door behind her, leaving the young Assassin on her own once more.

Now with the prospect of warmth awaiting her, Naeva undressed and hung up her wet clothes on an empty coat rack beside the entryway and unbraided her hair, shaking it loose with numb fingers. Stepping into the tub, she slowly lowered herself into the hot water. It was scalding against her frozen skin, but eventually the burn subsided and helped clear her head.

A part of her didn’t want to think about Elise, about what she had learned. A part of her wished she’d never asked, that Arno had never told her. She might have been happy in her ignorance, believing her sister was alive and well. But she knew that was a lie. She wouldn’t have rested until she firstly discovered the reason behind Arno’s depression, as well as tracked down her sister.

Her only close blood relatives were now dead.

She’d been an orphan for years now, but somehow, knowing Elise was still out there, that she still had a sister somewhere- even if she hated her -was a comfort in a way. Now her situation seemed so much more real. She was alone. The last de la Serre, and even that name didn’t belong to her anymore, not really. She just never got around to picking a new one.

Sliding down lower into the tub, she let the water close over her head and she soaked in the heat, just letting herself be weightless for a moment before coming back up for air. Reaching up, she wrung the water out of her tresses as cool air and warm steam caressed her face.

The time passed all too quickly as she bathed, and she leapt in surprise when she heard _Madame_ Gouze knock at the door while she was rinsing the soap off her body.

“ _Oui?_ ” she called, hoping it wasn’t Arno.

“ _Mademoiselle_ ,” the distinctly feminine voice of the _Cafe’s_ manager replied. “ _Monsieur_ Dorian has returned. He is waiting downstairs, may I send him up?”

“Not just yet, _Madame_ ,” Naeva answered. “Could you give me a quarter-hour, perhaps?”

“Of course. I will let him come upstairs then,” the older lady affirmed. Her footsteps retreated down the hall and stairway. Sighing, Naeva looked about herself in the tub, surrounded by soap suds. Pulling the plug, she let the water drain out of the bath and stood, climbing out of the tub and grabbing a towel to dry herself off with.

Once her hair was the only part of her still wet, she realized she was in a bit of a predicament- her only clothes were still drip-drying on the coat rack. She had twelve minutes to get herself out of this mess and figure something out.

She chewed at the tip of her index fingernail and wracked her brain for a solution. There was no way she was putting on her soaked through garments, and there was likewise no way she was entering the Assassin City dressed in nothing but one of Arno’s towels. Huffing another sigh, this one of annoyance, she stepped over to Arno’s dresser and armoire and removed a shirt which looked old but clean and a pair of trousers that looked to be in the same condition.

Further drying her hair out with the now unoccupied towel, she combed her fingers through her dark locks to rat out any knots or snarls. Tossing the drenched towel onto the coat rack with the rest of the wet things, she took a seat in one of the chairs Arno had arranged about a small table.

She fiddled with the sleeve of the shirt she had pilfered from the armoire, the material comfortable and loose if a little stiff. It smelled like him, but then again, what didn’t? She _was_ in his room after all. However, she had to admit she was grateful for his assurance and offer to let her remain upstairs instead of venturing into the Sanctuary as damaged as she had been. The hot water had been instrumental in bringing back her mental ability and she was grateful for it. Arno’s revelation had been a shock she was unprepared for, and the crippling blow had sent her reeling.

Naeva smiled softly to herself. She was lucky to have him as a friend again. No matter how reckless or hot-headed Arno could be, he was always caring and loyal to those he loved. At least that hadn’t changed.

Another knock sounded at the door, this one a bit more firm though it too was hesitant. Naeva jumped again, all the same. Had it been fifteen minutes already?

“Naeva, are you dressed?” Arno’s deeper voice filtered through the door. She was about to say yes when she noticed she had forgotten something crucial in her haphazard attempt to clothe herself. 

The seamstresses that the Assassins employed had so helpfully created a much more practical corset, which only covered her chest and had no boning for ease of movement, to preserve her modesty should she choose to go without her robes or a waistcoat. The only one she had with her was still wet along with the rest of her few undergarments.

“Naeva?”

“Just a moment!” she shouted, blush rising to her cheeks as she frantically looked about the room for something and finally settled on whipping the quilt off his bed and wrapping herself up in it. Once she was ensconced in the warm fabric, she called, “You can come in.”

The door opened to reveal Arno in his fresh clothes, with another neatly folded stack of garments that looked suspiciously familiar. “Is everything alright? _Madame_ Gouze made me wait downst- are those my trousers?” He cut off his initial inquiry with a puzzled lift of his brow as he pointed to her visible legs with his free hand.

“Yes,” she admitted, smiling sheepishly. “And your shirt. I’m afraid I may have forgotten a few things.”

His look of confusion dissolved into a smile as he breathed a laugh and shook his head. “I see some things haven’t changed. You’re still stealing my clothes,” he joked. The tension broken, Naeva snorted.

“Don’t worry, these don’t look like your Sunday best and I don’t plan on getting grass stains on them this time,” she replied. Looking long and hard at what he had in his hand, she tipped her head to the side and frowned. “Is that a pair of _my_ trousers?”

They were easy to recognize. The seamstresses had given her generally plain colors- including brown, black, and grey -but her favorite pair was a dark navy blue shade. She rarely wore them, especially not on missions in case they should get damaged, but she prized them even so. Arno glanced at the pile in his hands and then back at her.

“At least one of us realized that you needed clothes to change into when you finished bathing,” he explained, extending the stack to her and Naeva snaked an arm out from under the blanket to accept the clothing items.

“ _Merci_ , Arno,” she thanked him and hurried behind the changing screen to dress in her own clothing. Setting the pile down, she looked at what he had gathered and found she had everything she needed and more. “How did you know what to bring?” she asked suspiciously as she changed out of his shirt and pulled on the corset to lace it up.

“Well, honestly,” he began, and she heard him shuffle his feet a bit against the floorboards. “I wasn’t sure, so I just picked one of each thing you had. Your armoire is very organized, by the way.”

Naeva paused, unsure what to make of the awkward statement. “Thank you?” There was a short silence as she continued to dress.

At length, he said, “I saw you had a blanket, were you cold? I could start a fire in the hearth.”

“No, that’s alright,” she replied, trying to avoid another awkward explanation. “I was just cold after sitting in a hot bath for so long. I’m alright now.”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Tossing her slowly curling hair to get it out of the collar of her shirt, Naeva walked back out from behind the screen, holding his clothes and blanket. “ _Oui_ ,” she said with a reassuring smile. He nodded in acknowledgement and took the items from her.

“Have a seat anywhere,” he said, gesturing to any of the chairs in the room. The one beside his coffee table still called her so she returned to it, sitting back in the armchair. Her mood had been lightened considerably since Arno had returned, but she sobered once again when she remembered the conversation they were to have now.

He too seemed to recall his reason for her being in his rooms and he dragged over the chair that sat beside his desk and sat down heavily in it, leaning forward to fold his hands between his knees. His lips were pursed and suddenly the lump was back in Naeva’s throat and the storm clouds flooded her mind. Outside, the rain which had relented somewhat began to bombard the roof and walls of the building again.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Naeva asked, “What happened?”

\---

Her voice was barely audible past the rain as it pounded against the windows and walls. She had taken a breath to bolster herself, and Arno found himself doing the same. For the last few months, it had been the bottle that had offered him the fortitude to keep on going, but her presence and the knowledge that she shared in his grief was enough. Besides, coffee had more than taken the place of wine since he’d come to own the _Café Théâtre_.

“So you understand,” he began, rubbing his palms against one another, “we found the man who killed your father.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen in her seat, her fingers a little tighter on the armrests than before. “Who was it?” she inquired, her voice tight. He knew she wasn’t her sister. She had lived her life without the burning need for vengeance as she felt it was beyond her reach, but he heard the fury in her voice, the tempestuous wrath that threatened to stir if she wasn’t given an answer. Elise had been the same.

“François Germain. He orchestrated your father’s death, as well as the whole Revolution,” he continued, voice as low as he dared to keep it lest she miss something he said because of the storm. “It took years to finally discover him, and many mistakes, but I was determined…as was Elise.”

It still hurt to mention her name, but after the events of the last few months, the gut-wrenching pain had dulled somewhat- like a mortal wound that was slowly, slowly knitting itself together.

“Is he dead?” The steel edge in her voice caught him by surprise. He nearly flinched on hearing it, certain that he had never heard such acerbity from Naeva. Elise always had some sort of acid remark at the ready, but never her younger sister. Her sarcasm and jokes were lighthearted and rarely meant to injure one’s pride or feelings. “Tell me.”

“Of course,” Arno replied forcefully, looking up to meet her eyes confidently. “I assassinated him myself.” He grimaced upon recalling how, in his grief, he had slowly slid his blade into Germain’s neck. He looked away.

“What happened to Elise?” Naeva’s voice was beginning to sound broken again and he could tell she was hurting like she had at her sister’s grave, even though the paralyzing shock had worn off.

“Germain had found a Piece of Eden- the Sword of Eden, specifically. When I tried to assassinate him at first, I was blasted back by the sword into a column and it fell and trapped me. Elise tried to help me escape, but gave up and went to fight Germain on her own,” He stopped, the memories assaulting him once again. Reaching a hand up, he rubbed at his forehead with two fingers and willed himself to keep going.

“The Sword...became unstable and it caused an explosion. Germain was incapacitated and mortally wounded. Elise...Elise was thrown into a column and hurt badly,” he went on, fighting to keep from breaking down. “I tried to save her...but I failed. Elise died in that tomb. Sometimes I think I did too.”

There was a long silence where nothing was heard but the rain as it poured down the panes of the windows and french doors. After a moment, Naeva took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped at her eyes.

“You buried her with father,” she croaked. “You gave her a burial and you’ve been mourning ever since. Thank you. Thank you, Arno.”

He looked up, tears burning insistently at his own eyes, begging to be shed. She sat there, trying to wipe away her tears as they fell and her cheeks became red and hot again. And she was thanking him. Thanking him for doing the very least that he could do for the woman he loved and her family.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” she rasped. “I should’ve been there. She was my sister. She hated me but I should’ve been there.”

\---

And she was crying.

_No_ , she thought, _Not again. He doesn’t need to see this._

However, cry she did. Wept, was more like it. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. The calm she had gathered in the bath while he was away had slipped from her grasp and was eluding her now that she truly needed it. She swiped at her eyes, scraping her sleeves against her cheeks as she attempted to stem the flow of tears. Hadn’t she cried enough? There shouldn’t be any tears left to cry.

She apologized for not being there when he needed her, when her sister needed her. Maybe if she had been there things could have been different. Maybe if she had been there, Elise might still be alive, and she and Arno would be happy. For a moment, she forgot past grudges and all the times her sister had been so hateful to her, and remembered what good times there had been, wishing she could have those back too.

“I-I’m sorry,” she choked between sobs. “I should go. You don’t need this. You’ve been through enough.” Despite the stinging tears blurring her vision, she could see the tears forming in Arno’s eyes and she had no wish to be a cause for that, even if she still didn’t want to enter the Sanctuary. Getting to her feet, she moved in the direction of the coat rack to collect her drying clothes, but she was abruptly stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“Naeva, wait,” he rasped, turning her to face him.

Suddenly, she found herself enveloped in a hug, Arno’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her- tighter than the night on the roof when they had reunited -and her nose was buried in his shoulder.

“You’re grieving too. Her death tore holes in my life, yes, but I’m patching them together again. Just because a stitch or two breaks doesn’t mean I’m in no position to help you,” he breathed in her ear.

Letting go of her need to stop her crying fit, Naeva let her tears fall as she slipped her arms under his once again and pulled him to her, curling her fingers into the material of his robe and hood. She felt one of his hands rise and come to rest in her hair as he stroked the top of her head.

“Don’t let me go,” she said quietly, “Please don’t let me go.”

“I promise I won’t,” he replied gently.

~oOo~

“You have absolute piss luck, Arno Dorian,” Naeva said, staring at the just finished game of cards in front of her. She had already beaten him at Pharaoh twice- despite him playing the banker both rounds -and now a much less intense game that didn’t involve him losing half the Francs in his pockets.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and groaned. “I have perfectly fine luck, thank you very much,” he replied. “You’ve just gotten too good at cards. Did you gamble half of Marseille out of her money?”

Naeva laughed and reached for her cup to take a sip of her coffee. “I tried not to,” she drawled. “No. It was mostly just other Assassins, and even then we only bet with trinkets and other clutter. We usually redistributed everything but respect at the end.”

Arno snorted. “Good. If you didn’t I imagine you would have a rather large group of men chasing after you for rather unsavory reasons,” he commented.

Naeva sat back in her seat, looking smug. “Care to try another round?” she asked, innocently batting her eyelashes while daintily sipping at the contents of her cup.

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Arno sat back as well, collecting his own cup as he did so. “I don’t think so. I’ve lost enough rounds to you for one morning,” he said mock-grudgingly. Naeva giggled into her half-empty cup.

The morning had been peaceful after the ugly tempest of the previous night. The rain storm and its clouds had passed during the night and the dawn broke with the sun shining clearly in the sky. 

After crying herself to sleep on Arno’s shoulder, Naeva had passed the night on the settee in the next room and woke that morning to the smell of coffee which had been set on the floor beside her makeshift bed. Rising, she had found Arno in the section of his room deemed his study, checking over documents and the morning _journaux_. She had joined him at the coffee table and challenged him to the game he had proposed the previous evening.

The rest was history.

She sighed, looking out the now-open doors to her friend’s balcony and the garden beyond. It was such a nice place and she found herself smiling for him. Arno, after all his trials and hardships, had this place. A home. It wasn’t everyone or everything he had ever loved, and nothing could replace any of that, but it was something, and it was his.

“I should be getting back to the Sanctuary,” she said at length, turning to look back at him. “You did say you wanted to borrow me for a few minutes. I think it’s been a few hours by now, don’t you?”

He chuckled, setting his cup back in its saucer. “ _Oui_ ,” he said, smiling gently. “Are you sure you’re ready to go?”

Naeva returned his smile and nodded confidently. “I am,” she replied. And, in truth, she was. Just having Arno there, another presence, another soul to commiserate with, was balm enough to soothe the hurt. Even better, he wasn’t going away anytime soon. Placing her cup and saucer back on the table she got to her feet, Arno following suit.

“ _Merci_ , Arno,” she whispered, embracing him once again.

“ _Toujours, mon ami_ ,” he replied, his quiet words lost behind her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. That was a lot of tears. I'm not sure how well I expressed what Naeva is feeling in this chapter. I base a lot of her emotional reaction off of mine, which I guess means I cry a lot (so I really shouldn't throw stones here)?  
> I dunno, it may just be me. If anyone has something constructive they could offer to help with that, specifically writing emotional bits like this, I'd find it very helpful for when I potentially go back to rework this mess.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Toujours: Always


	11. Chapter XI: Colubra In Herba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 1795: The Directorate formed, relative peace has settled in France as the country rebuilds and heals. However, a new threat looms on the horizon...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at that! An update that's both on time and early(ish) in the day!  
> Just so you guys know, this is I think my personal favorite chapter tbh. I hope you guys enjoy as much as I did :P

**Chapter XI: Colubra in Herba**

_Translation: Snake in the Grass_

_Paris  
8 February, 1795_

The fire in the hearth crackled merrily as the wind rattled the windows and doors, whistling as it blew through the streets and cut around the buildings in its path. The flames did just enough to keep the chill of the overcast February afternoon at bay and heated the room to a comfortable warmth, allowing its occupants to enjoy the moment of peace and quiet without shivering.

Naeva sighed and turned a page in her book, immersed in the text of the book she was reading. In her youth, she hadn’t had much time for reading anything beyond various philosophies, thus making the speculative prose of the futuristic novel she was currently enraptured with all the more fascinating. To think of what life might be like in the future- albeit through the lens of a narrator with thinly veiled political views -was interesting to say the least.

Beside her, with his legs stretched out and ankles crossed, was Arno, his own nose stuck in book she didn’t know the name of.

They had been sitting in the Memento Gallery in comfortable silence for hours now, the only sounds breaking the pause of the lazy afternoon being the delicate click of a coffee cup against its saucer when one or the other of them decided to take a drink. No one had bothered to disturb them since their friends were out on a mission, and _Madames_ Trenet and Gouze were busy with paperwork and running a _café_ respectively.

Much to the chagrin of both Assassins, their peace was not to last.

A ruckus in the hall brought both friends back to reality, meeting each other’s confused gazes as they peered at one another over the tops of their books. One of the voices and a set of pounding footsteps was unfamiliar, whereas the other sounded like an indignant and harried _Madame_ Gouze as she yelled for whoever was rushing to disturb the friends’ afternoon to stop.

The stilted way the pair made their way up the stairs told of a struggle going on outside the door. Arno, however, made no move to get up until their visitor (as it seemed he was) crashed into the door with a bang. The Assassins rose to their feet immediately, interesting books tossed aside and forgotten.

The door knob jiggled for a moment, the muffled shouting reaching a crescendo as the handle finally twisted all the way and admitted a stumbling young man, quickly followed by _Madame_ Gouze. The latter quickly drew herself up presentably, looking visibly put out at being embarrassed as she was in front of the owner of the _café_.

“ _Monsieur_ ,” she said, addressing Arno sharply, “This man insisted he see you and would not allow me to turn him away when I said we were not open for business this afternoon.”

Naeva cocked an eyebrow and glanced at the man, who was still panting for breath. He looked rather rumpled himself, though that was perhaps from his apparent altercation with Arno’s manager. She noted that dirty snow clung to his boots, which were otherwise spit-shined and polished. He was wearing an army uniform, sans a hat. What was a soldier doing in Arno’s apartment hellbent on speaking with him?

Her friend nodded in Gouze’ direction. “ _Merci, Madame_ ,” he said, effectively diffusing and dismissing his manager. Turning to the soldier, brows furrowed, he continued, “I recognize your uniform. You’re one of Napoleon’s men, are you not?”

The young man nodded in affirmation, watching as _Madame_ Gouze scowled at him before she turned away and stalked down the stairs the way she had come. “I am, sir,” he began, finally seeming to have caught his second wind. A slow smile appeared on Arno’s face as he raised a brow in question.

“What can I do for you then?” he asked, leaning back against his chair and folding his arms over his chest.

Reaching into his breast pocket, the young man withdrew an envelope with an official-looking wax seal. Arno accepted it and stared at the paper for a moment before breaking the seal and unfolding the paper to view his apparent friend’s words. In the months since they had restarted their friendship, he had surprised her on more than one occasion so the sudden revelation that he knew Napoleon Bonaparte was just another thing for her to take in stride.

Arno finished scanning the letter and looked up at the soldier with a frown. “Why has he sent an official summons? He could have come here himself. My doors are always open to Napoleon.”

“The Brigadier General has requested you visit him at his office in _Le École Militaire_ to discuss the subject mentioned in his letter,” the young man said, straightening his back and trying to look as official as possible. Naeva shifted, trying to keep a smile from popping out on her features, but in the process was noticed by the soldier. His eyes widened marginally, as though he hadn’t realized there was another person in the room.

One of his eyebrows slowly lifted up in confusion and she looked over Arno’s shoulder, not feeling particularly comfortable with being stared at. Her friend glanced down at the paper for a moment, lips pursing into a thin frown and he set his jaw briefly before he looked back up at the soldier.

“Tell him I’ll try to see if I can make it,” he said. “If I am allowed, I promise I will look into this matter.” The soldier’s eyes passed between Naeva and Arno for a moment before he finally spoke again.

“But…” he began. He didn’t get another chance to say anything more as Arno folded up the letter and strode forward, ushering him out.

“I’ll look into it if I can, I swear. Just give me some time. I’ll pay Napoleon a visit as soon as I can, tell him to expect me,” he said, opening the door for the young soldier. The young man spared another confused glance at Naeva and opened his mouth before closing it again and shaking his head. He muttered something unintelligible about clothing under his breath before turning away and marching defeatedly down the staircase.

Shutting the door behind him, Arno turned to Naeva, looking determined. “What’s going on?” she asked, not having been privy to the information in the missive.

“It would seem that someone has tried to assassinate Napoleon,” he answered, pursing his lips again.

~oOo~

“It wasn’t us,” _Madame_ Trenet said, shaking her head as she handed the letter back to Arno, a disturbed look marring her features.

“It wasn’t sanctioned by this Council, at least,” Beylier interjected from where he stood leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest.

At least they were giving the threat serious consideration. Naeva had been worried that they would brush it off without even thinking about it. _Madame_ Trenet, thankfully, had been very concerned when she and Arno had entered the Council room with the summons and had read the message that came along with it.

“General Bonaparte has done a great deal to steady France since the Revolution,” Quemar said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Perhaps the Templars wish to get him out of the way now that _le Directoire_ has been established.”  
“It’s a possibility,” Arno agreed. “Regardless of circumstance, someone has threatened Napoleon’s life and whoever it was seems to be trying to frame the Assassins for the deed.”

Sighing, _Madame_ Trenet rose from her seat, bracing her hands on her desk. “Very well,” she began, looking at Arno. “Assassin, by order of this Council, I hereby task you with discovering who has made an attempt on the life of General Napoleon Bonaparte. When you have any information of note, report back to the Council and we will discuss how to proceed.”

Naeva watched some of the tension leave her friend’s shoulders as he offered a small bow in the Mentor’s direction. She was glad that they were allowing him to do this, given his past. At least he was going about his investigation the right way, and asking permission from the Council before he made a move.

“May I request that Assassin de la Serre accompany me?” he asked. Naeva threw him a surprised look. She wasn’t expecting to be invited to tag along. Morphing her features as if to ask him why he would want her, he continued to give his reason. “She has a keener eye for details than I do, and since Napoleon is a friend of mine, I would like someone who can face the situation a little more objectively should anything come of what we find.”

_Madame_ Trenet nodded her assent. “Your reasoning is sound. You may take her along with you as your partner. Do as you see fit.”

“But please remember the parameters of your mission,” Beylier sighed, pushing off the bookshelf and crossing the room. Arno’s face twisted into a scowl for a half-second before he schooled his features back into neutrality and he bowed to the Council members and turned on his heel, Naeva following suit.

Walking down the stairs of the Council Hall, she broke the concentrated silence between them. “So,” she began, “where do we find Napoleon, exactly?”

“ _Le École Militaire_ ,” Arno replied, eyes set firmly ahead of him. “Get your gear and meet me in the _Café’s_ courtyard in half an hour.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, she parted ways with her friend to fetch her sword and pistol from her room.

\---

Half an hour later, Naeva leaned against the outer wall of the _Café Théâtre_ beside its entrance, the sounds of whoever was performing on stage and their audience filtering into the courtyard. Patrons milled on the gravel around the fountain as they entered to escape the cold, couples arm in arm with one another while single men and women simply enjoyed the atmosphere.

Footsteps behind her alerted her to Arno’s presence as he strode through the doorway, stopping to look for her. Pushing off the wall, she ambled over to his side and propped her hands on her hips.

“Are you ready, _Monsieur_?” she inquired, hoping to add a bit of light to the situation. He gave her a lopsided smile in response and she sighed with relief internally. Arno had not quite been beset by a dark mood.

“ _Oui_ , let’s go,” he said, setting off determinedly down the front steps and across the courtyard. The regular patrons didn’t bat an eye at the appearance of the two hooded figures in their midst, whereas their presence seemed to visibly alarm those who were visiting for the first time. She paid them no mind; they would soon learn the standard of ‘mind your own business’ from others.

_Le École Militaire_ was not extremely far from the _Café_ , and Arno seemed to have some experience breaking into the complex as he snuck across the grounds like a seasoned veteran. Naeva followed in his path, copying his movements even though she wasn’t certain what they were hiding from.

_Perhaps going in through the front would have been better_ , she thought. It would seem less confrontational and more like an attempt to make peace with the General whose life was at stake. It wasn’t like they were here to assassinate him.

She understood one avenue of Arno’s silent reasoning- they would have their weapons with them if anything happened.

The day’s chill hit her full force as the wind whipped against her as they scaled the building. Squinting against the dry air, she tailed Arno until he came to a stop by a window on the third floor. Perched on the indents etched into the wall, he rapped briskly on the glass pane and waited as Naeva hauled herself up opposite him and sniffled. The cold made her nose run.

A moment later, the window pane swung in and Arno swung himself around to look at who had opened it for them. “It’s good to see you alive, _une ami_ ,” he said. Naeva swung a bit closer to him and peeked into the window, spotting the countenance of the man she supposed they were sent to investigate.

Napoleon Bonaparte.

He stared between her and Arno for a long moment, his small features pinched. She hadn’t expected him to look so young and boyish. Memories of Arno when he had first arrived at her family’s estate came to mind but she forced them away and pushed back a smile. Now was not the time.

“Arno,” he said at length before turning away from the window and stepping aside to give the Assassins room to enter. Swinging herself inside after her friend, Naeva moved out of the way as Bonaparte once again shut the window and latched it. “I must admit I’m pleased you’re here. Why didn’t you use the front door?”

Arno shrugged. “I wasn’t certain how we would be received. I’ve spent enough time wrongfully imprisoned,” he replied. Napoleon nodded.

“I understand,” he said, “You would have had your weapons taken, though I doubt they would have found them all. In a way, its a comfort that you used your usual entrance, I suppose. You’re one of the few people I trust.”

“I could say the same for you,” Arno replied. Napoleon’s steely eyes landed on Naeva abruptly, and she found herself at a loss for words. Arno, blessedly, noticed the staredown and intervened. “Ah, _une ami_ ,” he said, “This is a friend of mine, Naeva de la Serre.”

Though he tipped his head forward politely- an action which Naeva copied -she could see the suspicion in his eyes remained. She heard Arno sigh. “I’ve known her since childhood. I wouldn’t have brought her if I didn’t trust her.”

Finally, Naeva decided to speak up. “It is a pleasure to meet you, _Monsieur_ ,” she said. “I swear I will do what I can to help find who is responsible for the attempt on your life.”

At her words, the General seemed to soften, if a bit hesitantly. “ _Merci, Mademoiselle_ Serre,” he replied. Nodding her assurance, she began to glance around the room just to get an idea of what her surroundings were. It was clearly an office, with a large desk strewn with papers set into the corner, and a decent-sized sitting area centered around a coffee table near the door.

“So when did this all happen?” Arno asked, looking around as well.

“Just this morning,” Napoleon replied. “Someone infiltrated my private office and laced my coffee with poison. I would never have known unless one of my aides had mistaken my coffee for his.”

“And how is your aide?” Naeva inquired, fairly certain she knew the answer.

“He’s dead,” Napoleon replied stiffly. “Cyanide poisoning.”

Naeva pursed her lips and frowned, glancing at Arno to see a similar expression on his face. “Regrettably this isn’t my first run-in with that particular poison. I know of an apothecary we can investigate, but I doubt that your assassin used the same.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll sweep the room,” Naeva said to both her friend and Napoleon. “Do you mind, sir?”

“If you think you can find anything, go right ahead,” the General replied. Nodding, she set to work while Arno and Napoleon became immersed in the logistics of the attempt and the investigation. Focusing her Eagle Vision, she scanned the room for anything that might stand out. Only two things grabbed her attention.

The first point of interest was Napoleon’s desk. The papers and information there weren’t of particular importance, but three small coffee stains and a dried up trickle of the liquid glowed on the surface. Bending down, she wiped some of the stain off and sniffed it, catching the almond scent mingling with the coffee. There had definitely been cyanide in someone’s drink. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation just yet, she filed away the droplets for later.

The second was a window at the other end of the room. Approaching the sill, she noticed that several things appeared off about it. Unlike the other windows, this one appeared to have seen some use as there were tracks in the dust on the window ledge. Lifting a brow, she studied the frame of the window, observing something off about the way it fit into the opening.

“Arno,” she called tentatively, not taking her eyes off the window, though she blinked to unfocus her Eagle Vision. “Come take a look at this.”

Two sets of footsteps made their way over to her position and she felt Arno draw in close to her to look at what she was pointing out. “What did you find?” he asked.

“A couple things,” she answered, nodding in the direction of the window and ghosting a finger over the edge of the frame. Turning to look at Napoleon, she asked, “ _Monsieur_ , do you ever open this window?” The General shook his head.

“I haven’t opened any of the windows except the one the two of you entered through since Autumn,” he replied, rubbing his chin analytically. Naeva turned back to the window and gestured at the suspicious areas.

“Here,” she said, drawing her partner’s attention to the tracks in the dust. “This window’s been opened recently judging by that alone.” Arno nodded, reaching out to touch the marked up part of the frame.

“And this too,” he added. Turning to Napoleon, he asked, “You don’t have to pry your windows open by any chance?” Bonaparte shook his head.

“No. They’re latched from the inside and they swing open, as you can see,” he answered. It didn’t look good.

“Someone broke in here, then,” Naeva concluded. “They did an untidy job of it, but they did manage to break in.”

“You mentioned you’d felt a draft when you first arrived,” Arno posited.

“That could very well be why,” Napoleon muttered, looking rightfully disturbed. Sighing heavily, he looked at Naeva. “What else did you discover?”

“There were some scattered droplets of coffee on your desk near your chair,” she explained. “They smelled heavily of almonds, so whoever was attempting to hasten your demise was more than serious.”

“My aide was nowhere near my desk when he collapsed. The remaining coffee spilled on the floor,” Napoleon stated, looking even more concerned. “Staff had to clean up the mess.”

Naeva frowned, turning and walking back to the desk. Perhaps there were some details she had overlooked with her Eagle Vision. “Was your coffee already on your desk this morning when you arrived or did you send for it?”

“I have it sent up before I arrive every morning,” Napoleon replied. “It was here when I arrived, the same as usual.”

Planting her hands on her hips, Naeva studied the desktop. The saucer the coffee cup had arrived with was still sitting on the desk, alongside the cup and saucer that had presumably belonged to the aide. “Did you happen to recognize the staff member who came to clean?”

Bonaparte’s frown deepened. “Yes, but he wasn’t one of the usual cleaning staff. He was a server from the kitchen; said it was something for the kitchen to take care of given the broken cup.”

“That sounds a bit suspicious,” Arno interjected. “Why would a kitchen server be needed to clear away a shattered teacup? It doesn’t make much sense.”

“We have a lead right under our noses,” Naeva reminded him. “Do you recall a name for the server?”

“Unfortunately, no,” the General answered. “I only ever saw the boy once in a while in passing.”

“Do you have description we could use to track him down?” Arno pressed.

“Slim build, average height, dark hair and light skin,” Napoleon recounted. Nodding, Arno turned to Naeva, mouth set in a determined line.

“Let’s pay a visit to the kitchens then,” he said. Glancing back at his friend, he asked, “You have a guard on duty, do you not?”

Bonaparte nodded shortly. “They’re stationed outside the door. Here,” he said, striding to his desk and fetching a piece of paper and quill, writing a short note and signing his name. “Show this to whoever stops you, they should let you through.”

“ _Merci, une ami_ ,” Arno replied, accepting the paper from him. Naeva raised a brow, looking at the handwriting around her friend’s arm. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, you have my word.” The two men shook hands.

“I thank you for your assistance, Arno,” Napoleon said before turning to Naeva again. “And for yours as well, _Mademoiselle_ de la Serre.” In response to the acknowledgement, she bowed her head respectfully.

“For a man who has done so much for France, it is an honor,” she said.

“The honor is mine, _Mademoiselle_ , to be working with the Assassins again,” he replied. “Though I admit, my previous engagements with your people were restricted to Arno.”

“We’d better get going if you want to have any more engagements with the Assassins in the future,” Arno interjected wryly. The dry humor effectively ending the conversation, Naeva shook her head and followed after her friend.

They passed through the doors of Napoleon’s office and were immediately set upon by a troupe of guards. Arno held up the paper, which was examined by one of the officers, who swallowed and glanced at the two hooded figures for a moment before stepping aside, ordering his men to follow suit.

Allowed to pass, Naeva and Arno stepped forward. Making their way to the stairs, she couldn’t help but smile beneath the shadows of her hood. “Executive orders,” she muttered to her partner. “Never had that luxury before.”

“It’s easier than sneaking around, that’s for certain,” he replied as they descended the staircase, holding up the paper again for the soldiers at the base of the stairs.

_Le École Militaire_ was a large building, and it took time to find the kitchen, but eventually they happened upon the entrance to the “below stairs” and slipped inside. The staff looked up when they saw the two shadows in the door and the activity in the kitchen came to a standstill. A distinguished looking woman in a dark dress with her hair tied up in a severe bun approached them.

“Can I help you _Monsieur_? _Mademoiselle_?” She inquired, eyes passing between them warily.

Arno offered her a polite smile and said in a low voice, “ _Madame_ , with your permission and hopefully your cooperation, we need to search the kitchen and find one of the servers.”

The woman frowned. “Are you investigating the matter regarding the General?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Naeva replied. “We have reason to believe that one of your men may have been responsible.” She kept her voice low, trying to negate any unnecessary suspicion. Talk too loud and she ran the risk of being heard by the suspect and having a chase on their hands.

“Do you know who you are searching for?” she asked. Both Assassins shook their head.

“We don’t have a name,” Arno replied. “But we know he was a server who was sent to clean General Bonaparte’s office after the accident.”

The furrows in the woman’s brow deepened. “No one authorized anyone from serving to clean the General’s office this morning,” she said. Naeva cast Arno a meaningful look. They could very well be in the right place.

The last thing they needed was to cause a scene because of this investigation. If the Templars were behind it and they realized that Napoleon was working with the Brotherhood, they would triple their efforts to put him out of commission.

The woman sighed gravely, but nodded. “If it helps the General,” she began, “then very well. Feel free to search the kitchens. I shall gather the staff.”

“That would be very helpful, but please be discreet. We don't wish to cause unnecessary trouble,” Arno said.

“If it’s any help, we were told that the server had dark hair,” Naeva supplied. Again the woman nodded before turning to the gathered staff who were still eyeing them nervously. She waved her arms at them and they hesitantly moved away from their stations to follow her into an adjoining hall.

“What do you think we’ll find?” Arno asked, planting his hands on his hips and looking about. Naeva shrugged.

“I’m not certain. Evidence, perhaps,” she replied. “I have a theory of how those coffee stains got on Napoleon’s desk. They were reasonably fresh, and smelled heavily of the poison.”  
“Was the spill bad?” her partner inquired, moving from her side to study the countertops along one wall.

“No,” Naeva said, beginning her search of the cabinets and shelves on the wall behind her, using her Eagle Vision. “It wasn’t even a spill, just a few drops here and there. My guess is that the coffee was tampered with after it had been delivered.”

“That would explain the scratched up window frame,” Arno said. “But then why are we searching the kitchen?”

“General Bonaparte said he felt a draft in his office when he arrived, which means the window can’t have been shut for long,” she explained. “Perhaps his would-be assassin mistimed things or took too long and ran out of time to make his escape.”

“So he would be forced to find another way out,” Arno concluded.

“Right. And add the serving man ‘filling in’ for a member of the housekeeping staff, everything aligns just enough to be suspicious,” she finished. Crouching, she opened the doors to a cabinet and peered inside. Bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors filled the shelves. Squinting, she focused her Eagle Vision.

One of the bottles glowed a bright gold and she grinned triumphantly. “Aha,” she exclaimed. “I think we’ve found our evidence, Arno.” Rifling through the bottles until she found the one her Vision had indicated, she pulled it from among the others and held it up for her partner to see. He stared at the label for a long moment, a brow quirked in surprise.

“ _Cyanure_ ,” he breathed.

“Exactly. And more importantly, what’s it doing in the kitchen?” Naeva pointed out, straightening up to her full height. “Now all we have to do is find our serving man.”

“Then let’s go have a friendly chat with the staff,” Arno said, striding toward the door, Naeva in tow. Folding her hands behind her back, she concealed the bottle which would give them away to whoever the suspect was.

Rounding the corner into the hall, the pair were presented with a straight line of all the dark haired young men in the serving ranks. Naeva felt her eyebrows shoot up, but she pressed them down to keep up a firm visage. They didn’t want to spook the young men, but intimidation might oust their perpetrator quicker.

“Are these all of them?” Arno inquired, his voice dropping to a slightly more menacing baritone. The head housekeeper nodded.

“ _Oui, Monsieur_ ,” she answered.

“Very well then,” Arno said, stepping up to the line and inspecting each of the fifteen or so young men of varying stations. Despite being of average height, his robes gave Arno a sinister edge that had each of the boys fidgeting in their places. Once at the other end, Naeva watched as he closed his eyes for a moment and reopened them, scanning each face again before walking about a third of the way down and stopping in front of a particularly nervous-looking young man.

“ _Madame_ ,” her partner announced, “they may return to their duties.” A collective sigh of relief passed down the line as the tension in the hall passed and the boys stepped out of their neat line and returned to the kitchen. However, when the young man he had stopped in front of tried to follow, he stretched a hand out and caught his shoulder. The boy flinched and dropped his gaze to his shoes immediately. “Except him,” Arno added.

The head housekeeper looked slightly grieved, but Naeva offered her a small smile of assurance. Nothing would happen to him as long as he answered their questions.

Following her partner as he lead the boy to the other end of the hall, she waited for him to begin their pseudo interrogation.

“What’s your name?” Arno asked once the servant was backed into a corner, his arms folded authoritatively over his chest.

“Maximilien Beauchêne ,” he replied shakily, refusing to meet either of their eyes, which was a good thing, for he missed seeing the flinch that struck Naeva. Adrenaline rushed through her followed quickly by shame. Flicking her eyes to Arno, she saw that he was either oblivious to her shock or letting it lie. Recovering quickly, she returned to the matter at hand and gave him a more meaningful look; this boy was not a killer, or he was very good at hiding it. For now, she would go with the former assumption.

“Maximilien, then,” she addressed him, offering a smile that was similar to the one she had given the housekeeper a moment ago. “Do you mind if we inquire as to what this is?” Bringing her hands around, she displayed the bottle for the boy to see. Upon spotting it, he paled even further and swallowed before he suddenly burst into tears.

“ _Please,_ Monsieur _, don’t kill me! I swear I wanted nothing to do with it whatever the plot was to end General Bonaparte’s life! I swear on my life! Please don’t ki-_ ”

Before he could get any further, Arno lunged forward and clamped a hand over his mouth, shushing him.

“ _Soyez silencieux_ ,” he hissed. “Be calm. We aren’t going to kill you as long as you’re innocent.” Naeva hoped he was innocent. Those tears certainly looked convincing enough, and she had seen some fairly earnest-seeming false ones.

“Please, just tell us what the bottle was doing in the kitchen, how it got there, and how you’re involved,” she said quietly, hoping to come off soothing. It appeared she succeeded as the boy calmed down and Arno was able to remove his hand from over his mouth.

Once Maximilien was recovered enough to speak again, he told them what they wanted to know. “A man contacted me outside my family’s home in the _Cour des Miracles_ and asked me for a favor,” he began. “He explained what he wanted me to do, but when I tried to turn him down, he threatened my mother and sister! He knows where my mother works and how to get into my home!”

Before he could dissolve into a another mess, Naeva put her hand on his shoulder to support him. “What did he tell you to do?”

“He said,” the boy started again, swallowing. “He said all I had to do was put General Bonaparte’s coffee on his desk. That’s all.”

“And you did as he said?” Arno inquired, arms folded across his chest. Maximilien hung his head.

“ _Oui_ ,” he answered. “I didn’t think I had a choice. My family is all I have, and I couldn’t bear for anything to happen to them. My brother would never forgive me.”

Naeva bit down hard on he inside of her cheek. _Did Raphael have a brother?_ She couldn’t remember. They’d had many conversations about family and siblings but the details were hazy, the words spoken so long ago. Still, nerves pooled in her stomach and she had to fight back the urge to grit her teeth.

“What happened then?” she asked, rerouting the subject back to the line of interrogation they needed. “Why did we find the cyanide in the kitchen?”

Maximilien buried his face in his hands. “He told me all I had to do was leave the coffee, but he lied!” the boy exclaimed. “He came to me while I was on my way to serving the officers, forced me to take the cyanide bottle and told me to hide it, so I hid it in the kitchen.”

“Did anything else happen after that?” Arno inquired. Maximilien shook his head.

“No. He told me I’d done well and then left,” he said, reaching his arms up to hug himself. “I’ve never felt so sickened in my life.” For the first time in the whole conversation, he looked up and made eye contact with Naeva. She kept herself perfectly still as he did so, for his eyes were the very same shade of blue-grey that she had once been fond of. “I am truly glad that the General did not die. He has done much good for France, or so my mother and brother say. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if he had died.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “I understand your motive.”

“Can you tell us anything about the man who threatened you?” Arno asked, losing some of his sharp tone.

Maximilien shook his head. “I never saw his face. He wore a hooded coat, like yours but different,” he said, gesturing to the two Assassins’ clothes. “He spoke with an accent though, like French wasn’t his first language. Sounded British maybe.”

Naeva frowned. “Is that why you were so frightened of us? Because we dressed similarly to the man who hired you?” she asked. The boy offered her a wan smile and shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I was scared of you because I know who the Assassins are. My brother’s one of you, and he told me to be careful not to get mixed up in the fight. He says there’s a war going on under everyone’s noses and that I need to stay out of it. He wants me to stay out of it.”

“Do your best to listen to your brother,” Arno interjected. “Trust me. It’s probably better not to get involved if you can help it.”

Maximilien nodded quickly in agreement. “I wish I could help you more. Is there anything else I can do?” he asked. Both Assassins shook their heads.

“Just go on with your daily routine and go home. Pretend this never happened. Thus far there are no major consequences, so you still have a chance to back out while you can,” Arno told him.

But what if whoever was behind the attempt realized that the boy had talked? They would surely endeavor to hunt him and his family down. But...his brother was an Assassin. Even if he was who Naeva suspected, he could still protect his family. “Maximilien, where is your brother now?” she inquired casually.

“He was in Toulouse,” the boy replied, “but he wrote a few weeks ago saying he would be visiting for a couple months, so he ought to be here any day now. Do you think we might need him around?”

“I think it might be a good idea. Tell him about the problem, and if he’s a good older brother he’ll make sure your family stays safe,” she said. “Can I ask what your brother’s name is?”

The boy nodded. “Raphael,” he told her happily.

Naeva couldn’t say she wasn’t prepared, because she’d been bracing herself for that revelation since he’d said his last name. Even so, hearing the name with so many good and terrible memories attached to it shook her deeply. Doing her best not to show it, she smiled. “I know your brother,” she admitted. From the edge of her vision, she saw Arno’s stance change as his arms dropped to his sides. “He’s a good man. I’m certain he’ll make sure you and your family are well protected.”

“Thank you, _Mademoiselle,_ ,” Maximilien said, his smile brightening from her encouragement. “I will tell Raphael that I spoke with you.”

Mentally, Naeva cursed.

“You ought to return to your work for the time being. We’ll speak to the head housekeeper about letting you have a sabbatical of sorts until this matter is taken care of,” Arno said, stepping closer to his partner and gesturing with his chin toward the door.

Obviously still intimidated by her partner, Maximilien bowed his head and skirted around him, hurrying back into the kitchen. Naeva watched him go, leaning against the wall and folding her arms over her chest. Arno turned to her, a concerned frown wrinkling his brow.

“Are you alright?” he asked, mimicking her posture. Drawing in a deep breath, she attempted to gather her thoughts enough to gather a bare-bones explanation. And, really, she was okay. It had been years.

“I’m fine,” she replied, shrugging. It was a good enough start. However, Arno didn’t seem convinced.

“You’re certain?” he inquired, lifting a brow questioningly. She had tried hiding things from him in the past few months, but each time he had been able to sense that something was wrong. She shook her head at him.

“I am fine, Arno,” she reiterated. “I was just surprised to hear about Assassin Beauchêne.”

“It’s more than that,” he pushed, dark eyes filled with worry. “You said you knew him. And when the boy said he’d let him know you were around, you flinched.”

Ah. So she’d prevented herself from snapping an expletive, but she hadn’t been able to completely bottle up her reaction. That must have been why Arno stepped in and sent the boy off.

“I...I did know him,” she started. “It’s a little complicated to explain. We met in Marseille shortly after I arrived and we became friends. He made it clear he was interested in me and after about six months we began courting.

“Almost two years later, he...found out about my upbringing and wanted to end things,” she explained, pausing to swallow and regather her thoughts, falling back on the story she had been employing for the last three years. “He wanted someone he could trust completely, and apparently that wasn’t me. He broke it off and left Marseille two days later.”

Arno’s features contorted into anger, but Naeva held up her hand to keep him silent. “It's fine. It happened three years ago,” she finished. “I’ve moved on.”

“Clearly,” he agreed, his voice holding traces of a simmering anger. “But still, if he becomes involved, will you be alright?”

Gritting her teeth, Naeva hissed a sigh. “I’ll have to be,” she replied. “I won’t like it if I run into him, but it’s an old wound. It doesn’t hurt me anymore.”

“Then I won’t question you,” her partner said, much to her surprise. “But if he ever starts to get under your skin, just know I’ll be right there with you.”

“If he tries anything, you can punch him for me,” she grinned. “Besides, you know all my secrets so there’s nothing he can tell you that you don’t already know.”

“I just can’t believe that anyone...I can’t believe he would leave you for that,” Arno replied, shaking his head.

Naeva shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to you because you’ve always known. I forgot to tell him I was a Templar and I suppose he must have learned from another of the Assassins from Paris,” she said. “To someone raised as an Assassin, it would be a big issue. Be honest, if you had never known me, what would you think?”

“I admit I’d be wary,” he answered, “but I don’t think I’d go so far as to completely cut ties with that person. I would give you a chance to explain.”

Whether that was Arno’s honest opinion or just something he was saying to make her feel better, Naeva couldn’t really say. He was a ridiculously loyal man, and stubborn to a fault. It had gotten him in trouble more than once and she worried it would happen again, but under the circumstances, it was a comfort. He wouldn’t be walking away from her anytime soon.

He was very different from Raphael in that respect. Petty things didn’t seem to phase him overly much anymore, though broken as he’d been that didn’t surprise her, and big things merited his concern but fortunately rarely called for an explosion.

Since that rainy night in November when all loose ends were laid to rest, they’d had a deeper understanding of one another and the friendship they shared. It continued to baffle their friends, but they no longer seemed concerned and chose to watch it play out instead.

“And I would thank you for that,” she replied. Drawing a deep breath, she looked down the hall back to the kitchen where the sounds of work began again. “For now though, I think we ought to focus on our mission. We have a description of a man, but no name. Any ideas?”

Arno thought for a moment, stroking his chin with his thumb. Glancing up, he said, “I know someone. Maximilien said he lived in the _Cour des Miracles_ , didn’t he?” Naeva nodded. “I know someone who might be able to help us.”

~oOo~

“Who exactly are we looking for?” Naeva asked as they wove their way through the streets. Similar to the patrons of the _Café Théâtre_ , the beggars that frequented the _Cour des Miracles_ stayed out of their way and didn’t bother either Assassin as they passed. However, other people existed in the area and- beggars or no beggars -the streets were overcrowded. Arno cut around a corner, turning to wait for Naeva and look past her, trying to see over the heads of the people milling about the alley.

“More likely he’ll find us in this mess,” he replied. “I know one of his usual haunts. Come on.” Turning around again, he continued to push through the crowd and Naeva struggled to keep up and not get lost. She could handle herself if something happened, even if she wasn’t armed to the teeth, but even so she disliked the idea of being separated. Especially when such a variable as the one they were chasing was on the loose.

Catching up with Arno, she stayed just behind his shoulder. Glancing past him to the run-down looking square they were entering from a side street, she saw he was headed for a tavern. She lifted a brow in curiosity but said nothing. Arno had found friends in odd places since she had left.

The tavern was one of the uglier places she had seen in the district, and that was saying something considering where they were. It seemed that it was a haven for men and women who practiced the _libertine_ sort of lifestyle she had heard mention of. Based off what she saw in her immediate vicinity, she knew such was not to her taste. However, she did her best to keep her discomfort from surfacing noticeably.

Arno leaned nearer to her to whisper something and she gave him her attention. “Sorry about this. I know this place is a rat’s nest, but its the only location I know he frequents.”

“Who are we looking for?” she asked again. Her partner opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by another voice approaching them.

“I believe he might mean me, _Mademoiselle_.”

Arno looked like he wanted to smile and grimace at the same time, which probably said something about whoever was behind her. Turning around, she came nearly face to face with a man wearing a dirty looking powdered wig, a likewise filthy shirt which was split open to reveal his chest and torso, and trousers that had definitely seen better days. He gave her an appraising look which made her skin crawl, but she steeled herself and did the same to him.

“Naeva, this is the Marquis de Sade. De Sade, Naeva,” Arno said, hurrying through introductions. The man bowed theatrically in response, reaching forward as though to take her hand in a typical Court flourish. She didn’t offer it.

“ _Enchante, Mademoiselle_ ,” he purred airily. “What can I do for my highly esteemed and deadly friends?”

He didn’t look much like an adder, but Naeva still thought ‘snake’.

“We’re looking for someone,” Arno explained. “He’s been in your area recently, I thought you might know something.”

“I know everything that happens on these streets,” the Marquis pointed out.

“Do you happen to know of the Beauchêne family, then?” Naeva interjected, planting her hands on her hips even as she tried to keep the acerbity from her voice. De Sade’s eyes flicked to her almost menacingly, but she wasn’t about to be intimidated.

“I can’t say I’ve interacted with them personally, but the name does sound familiar,” he replied, continuing to eye her. Naeva felt Arno bristle where he stood. “In fact, I believe one of my informants mentioned that name just yesterday. I can’t say I kept my eye on it though, it didn’t sound like business you’d be taking an interest in.”

“Then you are you able to direct us to your informant, _Monsieur_?” she asked, wondering if he would get the full weight of her jab at his earlier statement. The corner of his mouth curved up into a smile and he directed his gaze back to Arno.

“This one has claws, doesn’t she,” he said with a smirk. Naeva raised a brow and gritted her teeth, a part of her wishing to show him just how sharp her ‘claws’ could be.

“I wouldn’t test her,” Arno deadpanned. “She’s got fangs too.” At least her partner was backing her up and not taking his friend’s side. Of course, this wasn’t the first time Arno had used the term ‘friend’ loosely. It seemed that de Sade was more of a grudging acquaintance, as were several of the other people he had introduced her to, save for Leon.

That little boy was a treasure, even as rude as he was.

She could not say the same for the Marquis. The dirty man seemed to recognize his place in the pecking order of acquaintances at long last and eased his stance back into the easy posture of a relaxed noble.

“I’ll get you to him,” the Marquis said, addressing Naeva again coldly. Turning on his bare heel, he sauntered away out of the tavern. Glancing at Arno, she saw him nod briefly after de Sade, prompting her to follow him.

The trio moved through the square until the Marquis seemed to spot a familiar face and he pushed through the crowd gathered around one of the hot air vents that warmed the evening air. He laid a hand on the shoulder of a man seated on a crate directly beside the vent and Naeva saw the man tense.

He said something too quiet for her to hear, but he pulled back and the man rose to his feet, trailing after him as he returned to the pair of Assassins. Reaching them, the Marquis turned to the man and said, “Now, Antoine, tell them what you know.”

Antoine was a rangy mess of a man. He looked even dirtier than de Sade, but in a somewhat morally cleaner way. He shivered away from the fire in the torn up jacket and ripped shirt underneath it which just barely hung onto his skin-and-bones frame.

“Y-You want to know about t-the Beauchênes?” he asked. Whether his shivering was affecting his speech or he had a stammer, Naeva couldn’t say, but her heart was considerably softer toward him than his employer. If she could call him that.

“Yes, that’s right,” she affirmed. “Someone is threatening them. Do you know who?” He looked around for a moment, his eyes taking on a skittish glint for a moment. He reminded Naeva of a frightened animal.

He leaned forward, as though to tell them conspiratorially what they wanted to know. “He’s some big wig from London,” he whispered loudly. “Word from those who know is that he’s a Templar trying to frame the Assassins for something.”

“Do you have a name for this man?” Arno interjected.

Antoine nodded. “They call him _Le Corbeau_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone bothered to read the, uh, Downton Abbey story that I worked on (and proceeded to forget about) then you probably recognized _Le Corbeau_.  >.< I am an incredibly original human being. I had intended, in that story, to make the Duke of Crowborough a Templar buuuuut since I never got around to it, I made one of his ancestors a Templar by the same name so there we go.  
> I want to thank everyone who gave kudos and reviewed the last chapter. I will admit that it was nice to know that it at least had...the desired effect I guess??? I really appreciate hearing your thoughts and again I'm so sorry you guys had to wait so long because of my impromptu sabbatical.  
> Hopefully it won't actually happen again. I managed to knock out another chapter and I have the second to last one halfway written. Spoiler: the last two chapters are basically just fluff and nonsense and I love it. There's a little action in each of them, but it'll mostly just be Arno and Naeva hanging out.


	12. Chapter 12: Fortis In Arduis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 1795: A new threat rising in Paris with the potential to shatter the peace, Naeva and Arno begin their investigation- and get more than they bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Nobody expects the Sp...wait, wrong line...Nobody expects this fic to actually update!!”_
> 
> For real though, suuuuurpriiiiiiise everybody. 
> 
> I have no excuse for myself....but please enjoy!

Chapter XII: Fortis in Arduis

 

_Translation: Strong in Difficulties_   
_Paris  
17 February, 1795_

It took her a week to make the connection, but eventually Naeva figured it out.

When she’d heard the pseudonym that their latest target was using, she’d felt somewhat suspicious. _Le Corbeau_. The Crow. It sounded far too familiar to her for some reason. And then, she remembered why late one night as she lay in bed trying to sleep.

A Templar from England had visited her family once just after Elise had turned eighteen, not long before they were sent to finishing school. Suitors from up and down the ranks of the Parisian Rite had begun to hover at their doorstep once her sister came of age, hoping to find a way to increase their status through marrying the eldest and most beautiful daughter of the Templar Grandmaster.

Naeva had found it all very annoying and tiresome, and Arno- who hadn’t a clue what the politics of everything were -had been very put out at the idea that the girl, now a woman, he was secretly in love with could get married off at the drop of a hat. Of course, her father wouldn’t have it. Elise had only just come of age and he had not raised his daughters to become strong, self-confident, thinking young women for them to be tied down by a political marriage. Well, Elise at least. That could come later if she chose to marry for something other than love. Naeva had more or less resigned herself to the inevitability of her situation.

The faces of the suitors had blurred together after a time, so many of them came and went. But the one from England she remembered. He spoke French well, but hung onto his accent when he talked. He was nobility, she remembered, a Duke. It was a high status in England, and he was a handsome young man, but something about him struck Naeva wrong.

It might have been the way he carried himself, or the look in his eye that made her nervous. He moved around their home like he belonged there, and when he’d looked at her she had seen a determined glint in his eye, like he always got what he wanted no matter the cost. Needless to say, it had unnerved her immensely.

Her father had turned him down as well without much thought. From what Arno told her, his dismissive attitude had been a factor that led to his death, but she was grateful for his flippant way of handling their suitors. Not that Naeva had ever had any. When she had come of age, most young men who had yet to be discouraged had still been trying to win her sister’s hand. It had hurt a little at first, but she learned not to let it bother her in the end.

Her realization had sent her bolting from her sheets, changing into yesterday’s clothes and racing from her room up to the _Café Théâtre_. The staircase leading to the “cellar” where the entrance to the Sanctuary was located was dark, and given the hour it wasn’t much of a surprise. Thankfully, Naeva knew the building well after having spent the better half of the last six months in Arno’s company. If any of the other Assassins- who usually stayed out of the _Café_ owner’s business -found it strange that she knew where almost everything was, none of them commented on it.

She figured their relationship could go both ways for Arno. On the one hand, he had one of his oldest friends back at his side after years of not knowing what had become of her. On the other, however, she was free to charge up his stairs and pound on his bedroom door at all hours of the night.

_It’s not like I do it often_ , she reasoned, banging her fist against the oaken door a second time. She pressed her ear to the door, listening for any sign that he had heard her. Naeva pulled her fist back, ready to knock again, when she heard the sound of a mattress creaking and feet shuffling across the wooden floor as they approached the door. 

The handle jostled for a moment before turning and the door opened quietly to reveal Arno’s face, unshaven and lined from sleep. He stared at her bleary-eyed for a moment before he seemed to register who it was he was looking at. “Naeva?” he asked, reaching up to rub one of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I know who we’re looking for,” she replied, getting straight to the point. His brow furrowed and she could tell that she probably should have waited until morning. Arno wasn’t Mel or Cass, the two partners she could count on to wake in the dead of night to go on an impromptu mission to stop Templars. It took a moment, but she saw the wheels turning behind his eyes and suddenly things clicked into place.

“ _Le Corbeau_?” he asked, lifting a brow. The way he asked made her believe his answer was more a lucky guess than anything else. Even so, she nodded.

“I know who he is,” she replied. “At least, I have an idea of who he is. It may be a fairly loose prediction, but its a start.” He stared at her for another long moment, and she could see in his gaze that he was thinking this could have waited a few more hours. “I’m sorry to come to you with this now in the middle of the night, but I didn’t know what else to do with what I know and I couldn’t sleep.”

“I trust you have an explanation of your theory prepared, then?” he asked. She nodded. To his credit, the sigh he released was not one of annoyance and more one of resignation. “I knew I should have gone to bed earlier.” He turned aside to open the door all the way but she stopped him.

“Um, are you decent?” she inquired, not in the mood to see something she’d rather not at this point. He looked back at her and then down at the rest of him still hidden behind the door. He shook his head apathetically.

“I’m dressed suitably enough for this time of day,” he grumbled and stepped back to open the door wide enough to admit her. “And you should know by now, Naeva- I’m never decent.”

She turned to him, trying to keep the smirk off her face. “You’ve never done anything to convince me otherwise,” she replied, glad she managed to get that much out as she struggled not to allow her eyes to widen. He was indeed dressed for that time of day in one of his shirts and a pair of trousers. For reasons unknown, he'd left the buttons on his shirt undone, giving her a view of his bare chest and torso her younger self would have killed to see.

Since her teenage years, she had dialed back on the lengths she would go to for that sort of thing, but that didn’t change the fact that it still set her heart beating a rapid tattoo inside her chest and she could feel her cheeks beginning to burn. She allowed herself half of a moment to appreciate it before dragging her eyes away and moving to sit in one of the chairs around the small table he sometimes took his meals at.

“I need coffee if I want to be anywhere near the right state of mind to talk about this,” he said, shuffling out of the room on bare feet. She smiled to herself as she watched him go; the freezing cold floors would wake him more violently than the coffee would, she had no doubt. Even so, he made no complaint as he moved down the stairs and disappeared from her view.

Crossing her leg over one knee, she examined her fingernails and waited. She knew that the hot water needed to brew coffee took time to boil, but she was terribly bored. And not a little uncomfortable. She’d come here to tell him what her realization had been, but something had changed all of a sudden. When she’d turned around and spotted him she had remembered, rather abruptly, that she hadn’t always viewed Arno as nothing but a friend. The last few months of working together and spending time with one another amicably had had her believing that maybe she really was over it and she didn’t want him in her life like that.

However, her unexpected and decidedly more mature reminder left her stewing over whether or not she’d ever really defused those feelings in earnest. Five years separated from him and a real relationship with another man had changed her mindset and altered her concept of what love really was. What she shared with Arno wasn’t like the love she’d shared with Raphael. They were still friends, and nothing more. He had loved Elise and she was dead, thus breaking his heart and leaving him indisposed to any other romance.

Naeva had been in the same boat at one time, though not for overly long. True, she hadn’t tried another relationship with anyone else, but that was because hardly anyone captured her interest in Marseille, and Arno had occupied the majority of her time since returning to Paris. As partners, they were rarely seen apart in the Sanctuary. That was perhaps why none of the others ever said anything about them being close. 

A stair creaked and she looked up in time to see Arno appear again, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. He entered the room and stepped over to her, setting one cup down in front of her and took a long sip from his own. She noticed he hadn’t done up the buttons since his departure, nor had he tucked the tails of his shirt into his trousers.

Looking at her again, he set the cup down on the table. “Alright. Now, you said you might have an idea who _Le Corbeau_ could be?” he asked.

Not wasting another second, Naeva took the opportunity to launch into the explanation of her theory. It didn’t take long given how many times she had gone over it in her head and condensed it into something understandable. Even better, when she was done it looked like Arno had followed her through it, judging by his sour expression.

“I remember hating that summer,” he muttered. Naeva fought to stifle a grin that threatened to split across her lips. “I can’t say that I recall the faces of any of the suitors, or their names, though. I didn’t pay attention as you did.”

“I believe you were too jealous to care,” she replied, sitting back in her seat and letting a smirk play over her lips. Arno’s dark brown eyes slid over to hers in annoyance. He’d been a bit taken aback by the realization that she knew a great deal about his relationship with Elise. Some details were a bit much, she knew, but it hadn’t been her fault. They simply should have chosen better rendezvous points.

Rerouting the conversation back to its original course, he said, “So, if its this Duke, as you believe he is, then what’s the next step?”

“If he’s in France, he’ll be staying in the upper-class areas of the city. Probably Versailles,” she guessed. “We’ll definitely have to do some looking before we have anything final.”

Arno huffed a sigh, looking away from her to the window, beyond which was nothing but the darkened midnight sky. “I suppose since we’re both up, and I’ve been caffeinated enough to keep me awake for the rest of the night, we may as well get to work on this now,” he said wryly.

Naeva grinned and did her best to stifle a chuckle. “No time like the present,” she replied. “First, though, you might want to put on something a bit more intimidating than your sad excuse for pajamas.”

He looked down at what he was wearing for a split second before making a face of grudging acknowledgement and getting to his feet, padding across the room to get a fresh shirt and pair of trousers from his armoire. Rising to her own feet, Naeva moved into the Memento Gallery to let him change in private.

~oOo~

_Two days later…_

“That’s him alright.”

Naeva lowered the spyglass they’d been sharing from her eye and passed it over to Arno. Her lips pursed into a thin line as she stared at the point she’d already been watching. She could make him out just from where they were perched on a roof across the street and two buildings left. Focusing, she locked onto him with her Eagle Vision, glaring daggers at his figure, bathed in a garish yellow hue.

The Duke of Crowborough was still as arrogant-looking as she recalled. The way he strutted around the room like it belonged to him, like he was in charge and no one was above him. He kept his nose in the air as he stood tall, speaking with unseen company.

“Are you certain?” Arno inquired, squinting through the sight of the spyglass.

Naeva nodded, completely sure in who she was seeing. “I’d know that pretentious nose anywhere,” she stated, entirely serious though she knew her words had to sound like a joke. Arno snorted as he laid the telescope down on the flat of the roof.

“Even though his presence seems like enough evidence to me, the Council will probably want something a bit more solid before one of us tries to bring him peace,” he commented. “Personally, I would rather wait and search his rooms once he’s left than go in pistols blazing. I’ve had one too many run-ins with the Trenet from being overeager.”

“Right, right, you’re the _bad_ example,” Naeva snickered, unable to keep the smile from her face. Her friend huffed in annoyance. Keeping her eyes trained on the window, she watched as Crowborough’s golden figure waltzed out a door and down a hall.

“Where’d he go?” Arno inquired.

“He’s not in the room anymore,” Naeva reported. She watched as their target descended a set of stairs, the red figure of the man who had been in the room with him trailing behind as he moved. It was likely he was a guard or escort of some kind. “Looks like he’s going out. We might have enough time to sweep the room.”

Sure enough, Crowborough exited the building through the front and entered the crowd that bustled around in the street between the buildings. 

“There he is,” Arno said as Naeva’s vision returned to normal. “Now’s our chance. Let’s get over there and see what we can find.” 

\---

Ten minutes later, the inside latch of one of the windows of the room adjoining the one where they spotted Corbeau buckled and gave way under the pressure from Naeva’s hidden blade. Smirking to herself, she gently pushed the pane forward and it swung back to allow her entrance into the room. Glancing over at Arno who had been watching the street, she grinned at him from under her hood.

“ _That’s_ how an Assassin breaks into a building,” she said quietly. Remembering their shared experience in Napoleon’s office, he smiled knowingly in return. Turning back to the matter at hand, Naeva stepped down off the sill, careful not to step on the ledge and risk disturbing any dust found there. “Now let’s see what there is to find.”

Arno dropped to the floor beside her and paused for a moment before straightening. “The entire floor is empty. Might not stay that way for very long, though,” he commented, eyeing the door from beneath the shadows of his hood, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Watch the hall, then,” Naeva suggested with a shrug. “If anyone comes up the stairs, we disappear.” He glanced at her for a moment, thinking over her plan, and then nodded.

“Just be careful,” he muttered, striding to the door and opening it. Standing aside, he gestured for her to pass through first with a mock bow and wide sweep of his arm. Naeva chuckled and shook her head, accepting the invitation and stepping into the office they had seen Corbeau in.

It looked fairly ordinary, papers neatly stacked and filed on the desk alongside a pot of ink with a long feather quill sticking out of it. There was a small sitting area in the center of the room, a small spread of treats and finger foods lay on the coffee table, looking as though they had been picked over already. Cups of tea sat empty or half full on the table. Either _Corbeau_ had had company within the last day or he had consumed quite a bit of tea or coffee.

“I’ll be in the hall,” Arno said, breaking her out of her musings long enough for her to acknowledge his words with little more than a nod and a quiet grunt. She heard his footsteps on the wood floor behind her and listened to the door open and shut as he moved into the corridor beyond.

Right.

Stepping closer to the coffee table, she bent over the cups and examined the contents. At least one of them contained coffee she noted, looking at the dark liquid and the breathing in the strong smell. A few of the others contained tea of different flavors. It started to seem more likely that Corbeau had been entertaining at some point. Dipping the tip of her littlest finger into one of the cups, she found the remaining liquid to be frigid.

_He definitely hasn’t touched that in a few hours at least_ , she thought, wiping her finger on her coat lapel. Straightening, she looked over at the desk sitting a few feet away and made her way over to it. A part of her didn’t dare to bother disturbing the neat stacks of paper, lest she make a mistake that would lead to them being discovered.

However, before she could make a decision, she heard a floorboard creak a few feet behind her and the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Her pulse kicked up suddenly to a much faster pace and sweat broke out on her arms and palms. She strained to listen, the silence sounding far too loud and far too artificial.

Drawing her right hand into a fist, she whirled around, fully prepared to intimately acquaint whoever had snuck up behind her with the business end of her phantom blade.  
Her mind went numb for half a second as she caught sight of a dark grey shadow, silver-blue eyes, and her arm was jerked and twisted back. Sliding her limb around in her attacker’s tight grip, she wrenched it free and used her close proximity to simultaneously spin around to face the intruder, grab his arm, and press the edge of her hidden blade to his neck.

She panted, adrenaline racing through her veins as she stared up at the awful and familiar face of the man. He swallowed thickly, and she felt somewhat tempted to press her blade further against his neck as she met his gaze.

A memory flashed in her mind of the last time she had seen those eyes.

_”Oh! There’s Raphael! Is he going on a mission?” Cass inquired from her spot at the window overlooking the small courtyard in front of the Academy. “You didn’t say anything about him going anywhere.”_

_Naeva felt her friend’s eyes on her but otherwise disregarded the question. It wasn’t fair, but she still didn’t feel like she was in good place to answer. She kept her back firmly to Cass and tried to keep her eyes from straying out of the window she leaned against._

_“Do you know how long he’ll be gone? When is he coming back?”_

_The questions were innocent enough, but they made Naeva flinch just the same. Her wound were still too raw and she hadn’t told her friends of the latest twist in her relationship with Raphael. It was less like a twist and more like a wrenching. They were over. Done._

_She saw him then, as he stepped up to Gerard’s carriage._

_He looked up, and for half a second steel-blue met hazel._

_She snapped her head away and moved from the window._

_“He’s not coming back,” she replied quietly, refusing to look back at her friend._

Gritting her teeth, Naeva pulled herself back to the present upon hearing the door of the office burst open and Arno appeared in the doorway.

“Naeva!” He shouted, pulling up short upon registering the scene in front of him. It may as well have been a tableau with how the two Assassins stood, glaring into one another’s eyes. From the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen. “Are you alright?” He growled.

“I’m fine,” she replied, not breaking her stare. Now that the silence was broken, she continued, “You still haven’t improved your holds.”

Above her, Raphael Beauchêne’s eyebrows drew together and his eyes flashed angrily. “Your reflexes are quicker,” he commented, his voice reverberating in her mind in a way that dredged up memories she’d prefer not to think about and she felt sick. “I yield.”

Releasing his arm, she unlocked herself from his hold and stepped back, careful not to bump into the desk. She inhaled deeply through her nose, feeling incredibly off-kilter in that moment.

Arno shifted, folding his arms over his chest and she knew he was likely sizing up the newcomer. In his stance, he seemed like an immovable rock, which was exactly what she needed. Her partner’s presence alone was a comfort she was grateful for.

“What are you doing here, Raphael?” She asked, keeping her voice hard and as steady as possible.

“You should know, Naeva,” he replied, a mocking undercurrent lining his tone. “You’re the one who interrogated my brother for answers. This is family business.”

“Then you should stay out of it,” she bit out in return. “We’re doing this on orders from the Council. Clearly, you aren’t or they would have alerted us to you joining us before the mission. And unless you don’t show us some letter of authorization from _Madame_ Trenet, then you’re not welcome here.”

Arno, who had been silent since his entrance, moved closer to her- stalking to her side in a manner she might have deemed predatory, likely meant to intimidate their unwanted guest. “She’s right,” he said firmly, and Naeva felt her heart lift a little as he backed her up. “You shouldn’t be here, Assassin.”

She watched Raphael’s jaw work as his eyes burned into Arno’s, only to be met with equal intensity. 

“Raphael, please,” she began, attempting to keep her voice even. “We’ll take care of it. If anything happens involving your family, we’ll let you know.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than his eyes snapped to her and narrowed. “I don’t trust you,” he spat and Naeva felt herself wince. “Nothing’s changed, _mon chere_.” She swallowed, working hard to keep herself from flinching as her one-time fiancé spat the term of endearment from his mouth like venom.

However, Raphael made the mistake of taking a step forward, pressing his advantage as though they were alone. She didn’t draw back, though, ready to face him. Rather, she would have been ready to face him if the cobalt expanse of Arno’s back hadn’t appeared in front of her.

“Back. Off,” he ground out. Naeva peered around him, somewhat incredulous that he should step in front of her. His lips were curled into a snarl, his teeth clenched and bared.

Taking the warning better from her partner than from herself, Raphael did as he was told and moved back a step. The tension hung in the room, as both men continued to stare one another down.

“We have a job to finish here,” she said quietly, hating that she needed to be the voice of reason in this situation when all she wanted was to snap Raphael’s head off or at least shout at him, unleash all the anger and resentment she still harbored against him. But there was still work to be done. She hadn’t searched Corbeau’s office in earnest, and it was unclear how much time she had to complete her task.

It was in that moment that the door opened to their right, revealing the face of the man they had seen with Corbeau. He looked up to see the trio of Assassins locked in a stand-off and paused. They stared at each other for a moment that seemed to draw itself out.

Before she could react, lift her right arm and fire a shot with her phantom blade, he twisted around and shouted to someone behind him, “Boss, run! Assassins!”

He shouted it in English, a Northern British accent if she remembered correctly. She heard someone take off down the hall and a quick flash of Eagle Vision told her that her target was escaping.

Naeva cursed.

The man who had discovered them gave a yell and she refocused in time to see him leveling a pistol at Arno. Grabbing her partner by the shoulders, she darted to the side and hauled him with her, Raphael rolling to the other side of the room. A shot rang out behind them as she pulled Arno behind the settee. She gritted her teeth, finding their hiding place lacking.

Peeking out above the back of the couch, she saw the guard heading for Raphael’s hiding spot. Mentally swearing, she stood up and took aim, firing off the dart she had loaded into the miniature crossbow on her wrist. The shot hit its mark and the man stumbled, dropping his pistol. Cocked as it was, the gun went off- the bullet striking the ceiling above them and causing a small shower of plaster dust.

“He’s getting away!” Arno shouted, vaulting over the couch and heading for the door. “Naeva, come on!”

Realizing she had frozen after shooting Corbeau’s thug, she started after her partner only to pause briefly as she caught sight of Raphael straightening up from his hiding place. Turning to point accusingly at him, she said, “Go back to the Sanctuary!”

“But-”

“ _No buts_ ,” she snapped, whirling away to follow Arno. “Just do it!”

\----

Under normal circumstances, Arno would have been cursing his luck. Under _these_ circumstances, however, he was cursing that man’s name.

Raphael Beauchêne, it was if he remembered correctly. Related to that scullery maid of a boy they had questioned back at Napoleon’s office and Naeva’s former intended. That thought alone made him grit his teeth as he leapt from the stairwell window and onto the building’s roof, searching for their target.

Not to mention he had just caused them to completely blow their current mission. They needed answers from Corbeau, and because of his disruption, they were losing their chance. Arno could practically feel it slipping through his fingers. He heard another set of footsteps behind him and he knew that Naeva had caught up.

He felt for her. That idiot had hurt her terribly, much the same way Elise had him, but somehow it seemed worse. Elise was gone- he had watched her pass -but the source of Naeva’s pain was still out there, and had come back to haunt her. The way she had explained it to him, how she flinched whenever he came up in conversation, all of it told Arno just how damaging Beauchêne’s leaving her had been.

It made him want to intimately acquaint the man’s face with his fist.

Naeva had been like a little sister to him when they were younger, so he had always felt protective of her. Even now, he still felt the need to shield her. Hearing the skirmish inside the room had sent ice running down his spine. He had run to protect her, only to find that she had solved the situation herself, or was at least in the process of doing so.

_I have to remember that she can handle herself_ , he told himself. Leaping off the roof, he used the wall of the building next door to scale down to the street, Naeva landing beside him in the alley.

“He went this way!” she exclaimed, charging out of the alley and down the street. Without hesitating, Arno followed her. The younger woman had proved more than once since they had begun partnering together that she was a capable tracker; very rarely had she been wrong on where their target was headed. She used her Eagle Vision fast and loose, possessing a more natural level of concentration than Arno himself had, which let her get a bead on her marks and follow them much more quickly than he did.

How she had discovered that she had the ability in the first place was beyond him, considering he hadn’t learned it until he was much older.

Naeva veered around a corner, drawing her saber, and Arno followed suit doing the same. Half a second behind as he was, he heard the sound of metal clashing and he joined the fray.

Seeing Corbeau up close as they exchanged blows, he recognized him. He was a little older, and a little rougher around the edges than the man he had remembered coming to call on Elise when they were younger, but it was still him.

He grit his teeth. The man was proving to be a worthy opponent as well. 

\--

Naeva leaned back as her target swiped at her neck with his sword, narrowly missing her skin and catching on the edge of her hood, tearing the fabric. Ducking before he could make another move, she swept her own blade out in an attempt to catch his legs. He stumbled trying to get away, but it had no effect.

Arno swung at him from behind, nearly landing a hit, but Corbeau whirled and parried the blow, not wasting any time locking swords to avoid being struck by one of her jabs. This fight was not going well. Even against the two of them, he was still a formidable adversary. They shouldn’t have been fighting in the first place.

If she hadn’t hated Raphael before, she did now.

It had taken her all just to get him out of her mind years ago after her had virtually abandoned her, and now he was- albeit unwittingly -inserting himself back into her life. It would have been little more than an annoyance if he had simply shown up. But to reappear while she was in the middle of a mission _and_ bring up the past had Naeva on her last nerve. She might very well lose it if he didn’t follow her instructions and return to the Sanctuary.

The next moment was a blur as the sound of horses clamoring down the road at an abnormally fast pace for city driving suddenly filled the alley. Disengaging from the fight, Naeva leapt out of the way, her sword falling from her hand. Arno was not able to step away so quickly, however, and one of the horses grazed him, knocking him aside forcefully.

The driver seated at the front of the cart reached out a hand to Corbeau, but Naeva grabbed onto her target’s jacket and yanked with one hand while smacking one of the rear horse’s flanks. Whinnying, it shot forward, jerking the cart down the alley. Distracted as she was, Naeva didn’t see Corbeau’s blade coming until it was almost too late.

She leapt back, but it wasn’t far enough. The sword’s edge swept her across her abdomen, slicing through the fabric of her waistcoat, shirt, and from the sudden pain that blossomed from the area, her skin. She stumbled back, pressing a hand to the wound. That didn’t stop Corbeau from coming, however, and he swung at her again. Lifting her free hand up, she braced her arm and took the impact from the sword, not bothering to grab the blade.

Her sword on the ground, she had nothing to defend herself with at the moment and Corbeau kept coming. He slashed and swung, but she dodged her way around him or took blows when she had no choice.

At long last, Arno rejoined the fight, giving her a chance to catch her breath and fetch her sword. It also gave her the moment she needed to see that the cart was returning, the horses once again under the driver’s control.

“Arno look out!” she shouted, diving across the alley to push her partner out of the way as the horses thundered past. When they turned the corner, she saw that Corbeau had disappeared. “No!”

Charging out into the street, she saw the cart hurtling down the road, their target settled in the bed. She took off running after him, but the team of horses was too fast and it was too far for her to get a clear shot. Besides, their mission hadn’t been to bring him peace. Slowing to a stop, Naeva paused to catch her breath and bent double, banging a fist against her thigh. Pain radiated from the wound.

“Blast him for being so prepared!” she said through gritted teeth.

“Naeva!” Arno shouted behind her. “Are you alright?”

The adrenaline fading, Naeva could feel the stinging pain in her stomach and the aching in her gloved hands where she had caught Corbeau’s sword. “I’m a little cut up, but otherwise I’m okay.” She could see Arno frown beneath his hood and his lips pursed into a thin line.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, eyes traveling down to her waistcoat and the small gashes in her glove. “We need to get you back to the Sanctuary so you can get patched up.”

“But we didn’t get him,” she said. “We didn’t learn anything.”

“We know he’s a Templar, at the very least,” Arno replied. “That’s enough to warrant the Council going after him. And it’s not your fault that the mission failed.” He slung the arm with her injured hand across his shoulders to support her. “For now, let’s get you back. That needs to be looked at and bandaged before it gets infected.”

\--

Two hours later, Arno stood alone in the darkened hall of the Sanctuary outside the infirmary, arms folded across his chest as he stared pensively at the floor.

Naeva had insisted that her wound was superficial, a mere scratch, that she wasn't injured that badly, that she was just winded- and he had believed her. He had believed her right up until she passed out behind him in the courtyard of the _Café Théâtre_ and collapsed, narrowly missing striking her head on the fountain. He had seen the tear in her navy vest that she tried to cover with one of her cut up hands, and the blood that darkened the fabric.

He should have known that things were worse than they appeared. The vest was made of thick, stiff material that was the closest thing to armor that most Assassins wore, and the blood from her injuries wouldn’t have gotten through easily if she kept pressure on it.

However, after he had gathered her unconscious form in his arms and rushed her past the shocked patrons of the _Café_ , down into the Sanctuary, through the door of the infirmary, and delivered her to the bed the doctor had specified, he realized just how badly she’d been hurt.

All the energy knocked out of her, he could see that she had taken cuts from their opponent’s sword on her arms, her sides, and of course her stomach. The doctor and his assistant had opened her waistcoat to reveal her shirt, the once snowy white fabric turned dark crimson all over her torso. Arno had been ushered out of the room.

So there he stood, waiting alone in the hallways while his friend and partner’s life hung in the balance. Well, perhaps. The doctors hadn’t said for certain. They hadn’t really said anything to him.

He probably could have found a better way to pass the time, like go find their friends and tell them what had happened, or at least report to Madame Trenet. That would be what Naeva wanted him to do. Nevertheless, he stayed rooted to his spot near the door.

It turned out that he didn’t have to wait much longer. The senior healer that ran the infirmary stepped out of the room with a deep and weary sigh, letting the door click shut behind him. Immediately Arno pushed off the wall and faced the man, his lips pursing in a grim line.

The doctor started at the sudden movement, tensing into a defensive stance for a second before relaxing when he saw the figure was one of his brothers. “ _Mon dieuwould_ wake up. The doctor’s shoulders rose and fell in a way that he could only describe as helpless.

“I really can’t say. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps never if she isn’t as strong as she looks,” the man answered wearily. “Regardless, you have time to get patched up yourself- you look like hell, brother.”

At the very least, she would want him to take care of himself. Arno nodded solemnly at the doctor’s words and exhaled a slow breath.

“I may just do that,” he said, mentally preparing himself for having to tell their friends, as well as _Madame_ Trenet.

As he turned aside and moved off down the hall, he heard the doctor mutter something about needing a stiff drink.

\--

“So you’re telling us that Naeva was slashed across the stomach by the Templar you two were chasing and now she’s lying unconscious in the infirmary?”

“Yes.”

Guillaume sat back heavily in his seat, leaning to the side as he hid the lower half of his face behind one of his big hands. Thomas slumped against the mantle of the blazing fireplace, arms folded across his chest, while Jean-Claude stared out the window.

“Did he get away?”

Something in the green-coat wearing Assassin’s tone spoke volumes to Arno of the violence that would come to the Templar Order if the next word he meant to speak was said aloud. It was an obvious enough answer. He had already told the Council and Trenet, but it seemed harder to tell his- her -friends.

“Yes.”

Thomas pushed away from the fireplace violently and stalked out of the room into the hall. Arno was glad that he was at least not between his friend and the door. Thomas might have been the youngest, but he was perhaps the biggest and most intimidating.

He shifted his gaze to the two remaining Assassins who had been a part of his unit during the Revolution. Guillaume hadn’t moved, but Jean-Claude had turned himself so he faced the window completely. Arno could see the rigid tension in the man’s shoulders, and the way his fingers were curled into fists at his sides.

“What did the Council say?” Guillaume mumbled hoarsely from behind his hand. Arno flinched at the sudden words but recovered.

“They’re sending scouts to find him. If he left the city, we have no leads,” he replied.

The older man sighed, then. Removing his hand from his face, he rose to his feet and moved toward Arno. Dropping his hand on his shoulder, the more experienced Assassin gave his younger friend a small, grim smile. “She’ll be alright,” he said quietly. “From what she’s told us, life hasn’t been easy for her the last few years. She’s had her fair share of difficulties. They’ve made her strong. She’ll pull through.”

Arno nodded silently. His friend was right, Naeva would survive. A part of him wondered what exactly Naeva hadn’t told him yet. Had she been through worse? Now that he considered it, the idea didn’t surprise him perhaps as much as it should. The way that she had carried herself after taking such a blow, walking most of the way back from the embassy to the _Café Théâtre_ , without complaint was impressive in itself. Impressive but dangerous. She had stumbled many times, but rebuffed all of his attempts at supporting her, asserting that she could move on her own.

Ruefully, he remembered that she’d been convincing and that he had believed her. Stupid. She could have died.

“We’d better stop Thomas before he razes the city looking for your target,” Guillaume sighed, passing Arno and heading for the door. “God knows if anything happened to her he’d personally hunt down and assassinate every Templar.”

“We all would,” Jean-Claude put in, following his friend out of the Memento Gallery.

Arno let them leave, taking the time to calm down. The last thing he needed to do was rush headlong into an unsanctioned mission. Without removing his coat, he decided to step out into the rooftop garden that butted up against his rooms. The majority of the plants had dropped their leaves for the winter, making it less appealing than it had been in the past, but the cold air rushed him and, though it left him chilled, it cleared his head.

For a moment, he had felt a spark of annoyance, no, rage at hearing what Thomas’ feelings for Naeva were. He forced himself not to wonder just how deep those feelings ran, where they came from, or- worse -whether she reciprocated them. Why did he think these things?

Naeva was like his sister, nothing more.

...Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I do have an excuse....I procrastinate...
> 
> We’re down to the last few chapters here and I’m still not done with Chapter 14 to say nothing of the epilogue I’m still dreaming up. I had started to look at this for the first time in about 7 months (maybe???) a couple weeks ago and started working on it. 
> 
> Thanks to the absolutely lovely Lalelilolu who left a comment that brought me joy and the reminder that I do in fact still have an obligation to finish what I’ve started. Also, if you read this, thank you so much for the suggested edits to the French- I really appreciate it and hopefully I will soon have the time to actually edit all of this and fix the language!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for sticking with this, all the follows and the kudos are much appreciated and I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> I can’t make any promises (for legitimate reasons this week) but I will t r y to get the next update out to you guys before too much time goes by.
> 
> SFC01


	13. Chapter XIII: Libra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 1795: Paris remains in dire straits after a hard winter; food is scarce and expensive and the people are beginning to protest. Naeva and Arno continue their investigation, and come to a better understanding of one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I’m a little late. But not by much! 
> 
> Enjoy~

Chapter XIII: Libra

_Translation: Balance_

_Paris  
13 April, 1795_

“It’s about time!”

The nurse winced, startled by Naeva yelling. In any other instance she would have apologized, but she had just been released from the house arrest order that the doctor had issued almost three months past, so she wasn’t feeling particularly apologetic. Granted, it wasn’t the young nurse’s fault, but he had been the doctor’s chief enforcer over the last few weeks, so she didn’t have much pity left for him.

Besides, she’d felt fine for the last month. Two weeks into what amounted to physical therapy to get her strength back she’d been good as new, but the doctor said she wasn’t to return to her assignment for another five weeks. She supposed seeing her in training the other day had finally convinced him.

It had taken a lot of complex movement and some gruelling exercises to convince the man, who had been roped into showing up at the training center somehow, that she was more than ready to return to duty. As a result, he had lifted her sentence a week early.

The nurse extended to her the formal letter that the doctor had written for her to deliver to _Madame_ Trenet to inform her of Naeva’s return to active service. Snatching it out of the young man’s hand, she rose to her feet and strode purposefully out of the room.

She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it in relief. It was good to get back to work after three months of being out of commission. She grinned from ear to ear; she couldn’t wait to tell Arno and the others.

He’d been trying (keyword: trying) to keep tabs on their target for the last few months. Her wounds were temporary, and Le Corbeau had disappeared besides, so _Madame_ Trenet hadn’t bothered to assign him a new partner.

Mostly he’d been at her side since she woke up, along with Guillaume, Thomas, and Jean-Claude. The other three had difficulty carving out the time to visit her between missions of their own and training sessions with the novices, so a large portion of her recovery had been time spent with Arno.

While she had hated being confined first to her bed and later to the Sanctuary, she had enjoyed the peaceful respite in that it allowed them both the time they needed to fully catch up and fill in the blanks of the last five years.

There had been days where they both spoke of the good times and laughed until they cried, and there had been days when they spoke of what tragedies had befallen them and took comfort in the other’s listening ear.

He had given her a more in-depth explanation of the events that led up to Elise’s death, as well as Bellec’s reasons for murdering Mirabeau- reasons he did not agree with. Unable to stand by his mentor, he had been forced to fight him and, unfortunately, end his life.

In turn, Naeva had told him more about her relationship with Raphael, who hadn’t visited her in the infirmary but was making himself a nuisance to Arno and his investigations. She explained that things had ended badly between them, due to the one secret she had unwittingly kept to herself.

They swapped stories of experiences with their respective units; skirmishes, missions, and general idiocy.

Drawing herself out of her reverie as she entered the Council Hall, she took the marble steps two at a time and hurried to the Council chambers. Giving the door a brisk knock, she waited for someone to call her in. Hearing a muffled order for her enter, she turned the knob on the door and stepped inside.

“Assassin de la Serre! How good it is to see you back on your feet once more!”

While they didn’t appear to be in an official meeting, Masters Beylier and Quemar were still present, already occupying the two armchairs across from the Mentor’s desk. Sophie Trenet herself smiled warmly at her former apprentice from her seat before rising and stepping around her desk to greet her properly with a hug.

“I had heard from your doctor that you had managed to impress him enough to let you go early,” she said, pulling back to hold her by her shoulders.

“That makes two of us,” Naeva replied, “I’m ready to report for duty again.”

“Do you have the necessary paperwork?” Master Beylier asked.

Naeva cocked a brow and gave him a knowing smirk. “Do you really need to ask that?” she answered, drawing the note from the breast pocket of her coat and handing it to _Madame_ Trenet.

The older woman unfolded the note and glanced over its contents for a brief moment before nodding and returning her gaze to Naeva. “It seems that the doctor believes you’re fit for service once again,” she said with a proud smile. “Go. You should tell your partner. I’m sure he’s been waiting for news.”

“Thank you, Mentor,” Naeva replied with a bow. “Arno will be surprised to see me delivering news of my condition by myself.”

 

\---

 

Walking in unaccompanied by the nurse or another member of the doctor’s staff had been a cause for uproar in the training hall when she arrived. Her friends had rushed from their positions to admonish her for leaving the infirmary or her rooms by herself until she stopped them by brandishing the doctor’s note that _Madame_ Trenet had returned to her. Each of them had stopped to examine it to be certain that she hadn’t forged the note, but gave her bone-crushing hugs once they were convinced.

“I’m glad you’re alright, _minette_ ,” Thomas had muttered into her hair as he did so, before pulling away and giving her a hearty slap on the back. She had become accustomed to his boisterous and painful displays of affection and laughed through it. Naeva was just happy to be back with her friends.

However, Arno was nowhere to be found in the training hall or the sparring floor. She sidled up next to Guillaume to ask him where her partner was.

“I think he’s off on a mission. You know he’s been hunting leads on your target since you got hurt, right?” he said. Naeva nodded, folding her arms across her chest.

“Where has he been frequenting? Will I find him in the _Café_ upstairs?” she inquired. Gil nodded.

“Probably. You’ll be able to catch him there before he heads for the Sanctuary,” he answered. Thanking him, Naeva offered him one last hug before she departed and headed for the _Café_ entrance.

Over the last couple months, during the time she had spent recovering, she’d had a great deal of time for thinking. At first she had thought about _Le Corbeau_ and what his plan could be until her focus had somehow shifted along the way to land on Arno. Spending time with him on a near-daily basis probably hadn’t helped matters, but even so. Since the night she had come running to his door with her idea, she’d been warring with herself.

On the one hand, she knew for a fact that she had shed her childish infatuation with him years ago, after she met Raphael. Thus far, those feelings had remained at bay, but what she was feeling now was different. Arno was her friend and partner, and she cared about him, and her heart didn’t beat terribly fast when she thought of him anymore or when he entered the room. Instead, it was a feeling of profound comfort and a sense that she was _home_ more than anything else. And she wasn’t sure if that was just because he was her childhood friend or if it was something else, something more.

Sighing as she trudged up the stairs to the _Café’s_ cellar, and then on up to the main floor, she stepped out into the hallway and went in search of _Madame_ Gouze.

Finding Arno’s manager in the kitchen checking the produce one of the delivery boys had just brought from the market, she rapped lightly on the door frame. The older lady turned to look at her and smiled broadly.

“ _Mademoiselle_ Serre!” she exclaimed, moving in Naeva’s direction. “I’m so pleased you are well. _Monsieur_ Dorian has been terribly worried for you all this time, and we’ve missed your company.”

Momentarily ignoring and side-stepping _Madame_ Gouze’ comment about Arno, Naeva focused on the latter part of her statement. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit sooner. It has been too long, but I’m afraid my doctor kept me under house arrest until he was sure I’d be fine on my own. I’ve missed all of you as well.”

She chatted for a few minutes with the _Café_ manager and the kitchen maids. Cecille told her that she had seen her fall the day she had been injured and had feared for her life until Arno had told the kitchen staff- at the behest of _Madame_ Gouze -that she was alive and recovering. The younger girl, who Naeva had become fast friends with when she began frequenting the _Café_ , had been terrified at seeing her friend drop to the ground, seemingly without warning.

Naeva wasn’t sure whether she should tell her that she had become dizzy from blood loss and blacked out or leave the girl relatively in the dark.

Deciding on the latter, she shrugged and said, “I was just very winded. The fight was difficult and I was injured, so I was very tired when I reached the courtyard. I must have fainted, that's all.”

“Still,” Cecille continued as she sliced a tomato, “you could’ve died if you’d fallen just a few inches further back. And if you were so tired, why didn’t you ask _Monsieur_ Dorian to support you, or better yet carry you! I’m sure he would have!”

If she had been drinking something, Naeva would have choked.

“ _Cecille_!” _Madame_ Gouze interjected before Naeva could open her mouth. “I think that’s quite enough. Now, fetch Percy and ask him to get a sack of flour from the market, Marc forgot it.”

The kitchen maid finished her task and excused herself, curtseying to her employer and their guest before leaving the room, quietly pouting. Naeva shook her head and turned to the older woman.

“Thank you for that,” she said with a half smile.

_Madame_ Gouze nodded and returned the smile. “Of course. You know Cecille means well, but she’s young and...romantic.”

That was one way of putting it, Naeva guessed. “Speaking of _Monsieur_ Dorian,” she began, “do you happen to know when he’ll return? I heard he was out.”

The manager shrugged. “He does not tell me where he goes or how long he will be gone, but he is usually back before we close for the night.”

Nodding, the younger woman gave her friend a small curtsey out of respect. “Thank you, _Madame_ ,” she said. “I won’t keep you from your work any longer. I’ll wait for him out by the stairs.”

“You’re a welcome distraction, _Mademoiselle_ Serre,” the older woman replied. “We do enjoy your company.”

“And I yours, _Madame_ ,” she replied.

 

\---

 

She wound up waiting on the stairs for what felt like several hours. After a few minutes, she had gone upstairs to steal a book from Arno’s collection before returning to her place and cracking it open. Judging by the fact that she got to watch the sunset from where she lounged on the third step from the bottom, she had been lost between the pages for some time.

The noise of the _Café’s_ patrons had ramped up, and more music had started, suggesting that someone was performing a play rather than some of the speeches or dialogues that usually took up the majority of the stage’s productions. Judging by laughter that emanated from the dining area, it was a comedy.

Just as she was considering the idea of getting to her feet and moving to the dining area, perhaps getting some coffee or tea while watching what remained of the play, the sound of a door opening upstairs and shoes on the floor caught her attention. Writing it off as either a staff member or possibly _Madame_ Gouze, she returned to her musings for another moment.

“Naeva?”

Whipping around at the sound of the familiar voice, she looked up to see Arno standing at the top of the stairs, his brows furrowed as he smiled at her quizzically. Snapping her book shut, she grinned up at him and got to her feet, once again pulling the letter out of her breast pocket and waving it for him to see.

“I got released from house arrest today,” she told him as he descended the stairs and stopped beside her.

“That’s wonderful news,” he said happily, “though it does cut my break a bit short. I was planning to come and see you downstairs.”

“Your break?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’re wearing yourself into the ground for this investigation, Arno.” He shook his head.

“I’m not,” he replied. “But I think I'm close to an answer. I think I may have a lead on where we can find _Le Corbeau_ next.” Naeva raised a brow and followed him as he moved towards the _Café_.

After ordering coffee for both of them, Arno leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest.

“So what have you found?” Naeva inquired from her spot beside him.

“Not much,” he answered quietly. “It’s almost enough to call a lead. We should be able to make another attempt at going after him.”

“Well, now I’m even more pleased that I managed to heal as quickly as I did. I can keep up with you on this,” she commented. He gave her a strange look for a moment, almost like he was pained at the idea of her going with him, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. The man behind the counter slid their coffee toward them and Arno thanked him.

“It would be wiser to speak about this upstairs,” he muttered and she nodded, trailing after him again as he moved through the crowd of patrons back toward the hallway. Once upstairs, she assumed her usual seat across from Arno at the table by the window. It was nice to return to their tradition after being confined to the Sanctuary for so long.

Taking a sip of her coffee, Naeva looked out the window at the view of the courtyard and street beyond before lowering her cup back to its saucer. “So,” she began, “what have you learned?”

Arno set his cup down on the table and sat back in his seat. “Well, I believe I told you that we discovered that our target returned to London shortly after he found out we were onto him,” he told her. Naeva nodded.

Her partner continued. “Just recently he came back. I’ve had de Sade on the lookout for anything that might be of interest and one of his informants notified him that luggage belonging to the “Duke of Crowborough” was unloaded from a carriage, but not at the embassy.

“He’s here in Paris, but I haven’t quite pinpointed where. The informant had gotten lost and taken a job unloading luggage for some extra money to make it worth his while,” he explained.

“Alright then,” Naeva said, placing her cup and saucer down on the table. “So we just get Guillaume, Thomas, and Jean-Claude and we stake out the area, try to track him down.” Arno reached forward and picked up his coffee, taking a long sip from his drink before setting it back down again.

“Are you sure?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Naeva nodded again. “I’m sure. I’ll be fine, Arno. Believe me. I haven’t been an invalid this whole time, no matter what the doctor said to the contrary. I can do this.”

He pursed his lips and for a long moment Naeva wondered if this would turn into an argument. Finally, he closed his eyes and sighed. “ _D’accord_ ,” he said quietly. Giving her a look like he hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision. She would make sure that didn’t happen. “Just so you know, that idiot Beauchêne has been making things difficult enough. If he finds out we have a lead…”

“-He’ll do what he did last time and potentially muck up the whole ordeal,” Naeva finished before taking a sip of her coffee. “You know, if we come across him again you may have to restrain me, otherwise I’ll knock him unconscious and ship him back to Toulouse. Which may not work out for everyone- he does still have a family to watch after.”

Arno laughed. “I told Mentor Trenet about it and she’s having him stay with his brother and mother until the threat can be taken care of. At least if you run into him, it won’t be in the Sanctuary,” he told her.

“I was wondering why I hadn’t seen him yet,” she stated. Truth be told, she really had been. She hadn’t seen Raphael at all in the Sanctuary whenever she’d walked around to exercise, or in the dining hall whenever she ate with her friends. “Guess that explains that. When do we get started?”

“First thing tomorrow,” Arno replied. “We have to propose the mission to the Council and get it approved, though that shouldn’t be too hard, and we need to get the others on board as well.”

“They should be happy to get out of the training hall again,” Naeva said. “It may sound a little strange, but I’m looking forward to it too. I haven’t been outside in weeks. It’s nice just being up here for now.”

“You could always sleep in the Memento Gallery or in the attic,” Arno shrugged. “My doors are always open for you.”

“ _Merci, une ami_ ,” she replied with a smile, “But I think I’ll take my room tonight. Besides, its still only spring- its a bit drafty in your attic.”

In the middle of sucking down the last of his coffee, Arno laughed, nearly spitting up his drink.

 

~oOo~

 

_Paris  
16 April, 1795_

It took three days of almost non-stop patrolling the area in which de Sade’s informant had managed to describe, but they finally managed to get a bead on _Le Corbeau_.

He was staying in the Latin quarter, near the _Panthéon_ , in the house of another Templar, a former exile of the aristocracy who had returned after the death of Robespierre. The young aristocrat wasn’t particularly well known, granting him a certain degree of anonymity as he rebuilt a shadow of the life he had known before the Revolution, but it hadn’t held up under the intense scrutiny Naeva and her friends had scoured Paris with.

Around the time for midday _déjeuner_ , the two men departed the building and left for the the _Palais-Royal_ if the information that a lurking bystander gave them was correct. That gave them at least a couple hours to plot an ambush for their target.

“Don’t forget we still need to interrogate him,” Naeva reminded Arno as they went over their plan once more, crouched on the rooftop of the home of the aristocrat- _Monsieur_ Luc Desrosiers - their mark was staying with. Arno quirked a brow and gave her a bemused look.

“No, really? I hadn’t thought of that,” he quipped. Rolling her eyes, Naeva sat back and glanced down at the street. It had been some time since the pair had left the establishment, and they shouldn’t be back for at least a little while longer.

“Planning aside,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm, “I think we have a some time for searching Desrosiers’ rooms for anything that our man might’ve left out. What do you think?”

Rising to his feet, Arno offered her his hand. “Suppose its worth a look, just in case he gets away again,” he replied. “Should I play lookout again?”

“Not a bad idea,” Naeva answered, accepting his assistance. Dusting the dirt and grime off the backside of her coat and trousers, she said, “Maybe stay a little closer, this time?”

“If he somehow found out that we were planning this, I make no promises about restraining you,” Arno told her, raising his eyebrows and giving her a meaningful stare that told her he was entirely serious. She laughed anyway.

“He must have been quite the pest these last few months,” she commented, lowering herself down to hang from the edge of the roof and dropping to the window ledge one floor down.

Arno grunted and followed her. “Not particularly. The man’s just been a nuisance since he showed up. He tailed me on missions- without the Council’s permission, mind you. Not to mention he’s just all around annoying.”

Raising an eyebrow, Naeva glanced at him and caught him glaring at nothing as he hauled himself onto the sill and slipped through the window. What was that all about? Smirking, she copied him and landed on the floor in a crouch. Straightening her waistcoat as she rose, she eyed him for a second.

“I do wonder at times what I saw in him,” she sighed. “Perhaps it was how charming he was. Or how tall. Or maybe it was how handsome his eyes were. Then again, it might have been-”

“ _I get it_ ,” Arno cut her off sharply. If it wasn’t the reaction she’d been looking for, the acerbity in his voice would have taken her aback. As it was, however, she grinned smugly and looked meaningfully at him. Catching her gaze, Arno scowled and looked away, hiding under the shadows of his hood. “We’d better hurry. They could be back any moment.”

Dropping the subject without fuss, Naeva rolled her eyes and turned to scan the floor. These were the apartments they had seen Desrosiers and Crowborough loitering in.

“A rather auspicious dwelling for a newly returned exile,” she muttered, taking in the lavish furniture and obviously remodeled walls and floors. Dust and debris still clung to the baseboards and, upon further inspection, chunks of the crown molding decorating the ceiling were still missing. “He needs to hire more help if he’s not willing to clean, though.”

Wandering over to a desk settled in the corner of the room, she examined the surface for anything of interest. A cup of tea sat half empty off to the side, with a document or letter drying beside a pot of ink and quill. The missive wasn’t written in French, and was signed “The Crow” at the bottom.

_Le Corbeau_.

“Arno, over here,” she called. “Come look at this.”

Her partner was at her side in a split-second. “What is it?” he inquired, looking over the letter.

“Looks like a message to someone in the London Rite,” she surmised. “It doesn’t say who precisely, probably someone high in command, if not the Grandmaster. Based on his movements, I doubt Crowborough has an overly-high position within the Order. He’s a schemer, but he’s willing to do the wet-work himself.”

“So he’s ambitious?” Arno asked, a brow raised in question. Naeva shook her head.

“Most likely. He seems to know that ambition alone won’t get him very far, though. He’s surprisingly motivated for a Duke,” she posited.

“That title alone presents more questions. If he’s really a Duke, how can he get away from England to oversee his ends in Paris? How does he manage to get in and out of the Country so quietly?” Arno wondered aloud, reaching up to stroke his chin.

“This letter might explain a few things,” Naeva replied, gesturing to the paper on the desk. Arno shrugged.

“Your English is better than mine,” he said with a half-smile. She smirked back at him.

“At least one us paid attention to our tutor instead of my sister during lessons,” she quipped, turning aside to lean over the missive in time to miss the scandalized look her partner threw her way. “Go look for any other documents lying around. We might be able to piece a few things together while we have the time.”

Arno stalked away with a huff, and she smiled beneath her hood. While it had been a low blow, she knew it had only injured his ego, if anything, and he wouldn’t stay annoyed. She enjoyed taking every opportunity she could to get a rise out of him.

Her focus shifted, however, and her smile died as she deciphered the contents of the letter. Crowborough hadn’t bothered using a code, which made sense since most people in France didn’t speak English, let alone read it.

_It seems that my expensive education does come in handy on occasion_ , Naeva thought as she skimmed over the message. As she had thought, it was addressed to the Grandmaster of the London Rite.

“‘Templar Order still needs a seat on the Directorate...Desrosiers malleable, not highly recommended, associate of Bastien Olivier preferred...Regret to inform you that Brigadier-General Bonaparte is still a threat to our plans,” she read. “So they’re still after him, then. And I remember that name, Olivier.” She would have to ask _Madame_ Trenet about that when they returned to the Sanctuary.

Stepping back from the message, she made sure that everything was the way she had left it and went in search of Arno.

“Find anything?” she asked, spotting him in the next room over, kneeling beside a coffee table which was strewn with more papers. He turned to look at her, lips pursed in a grim line.

“It doesn’t sound good. Any of it,” he answered. “From what I can understand, the Templars in England are joining forces with the ones here in Paris to try to rebuild the Order.”

Naeva nodded. “They don’t much care for your friend, Napoleon, either,” she added. “I imagine whatever they’re planning will involve removing him from the equation.”

“That seems accurate enough,” Arno said. “Do you recall our first mission together? You pretended you were mute?”

She grimaced at the memory and the idiocy- largely on her part - which had led to that particular ruse. “Yes, unfortunately,” she replied.

“Our target that night was Bastien Olivier- Crowborough’s top lieutenant in Paris,” he informed her. So that was why the name was familiar. She remembered the man they had been sent to assassinate; he had been attempting to secure a seat on the Directorate when they had been sent after him. The event had ended in a skirmish, but it had also resulted in Naeva finally getting over her fears and revealing herself to Arno- albeit, she was forced to.

She shuddered remembering that he almost died that night.

Arno snickered, realizing he had hit a nerve and smirked knowingly up at her from the floor. Naeva cast him a bemused look. “Yes, yes, very funny, do go on,” she prompted him, gesturing for him to continue.

His grin remaining, her partner went on. “There’s not much more to tell. Olivier was our man’s right hand and the one who enacted all his schemes. When we eliminated him, Crowborough was left floundering and he was forced to deal with the situation himself.”

“I suppose its fortunate for us that Assassins are fairly nondescript. Otherwise, we’d have a price on our heads,” she stated.

“Yes, but if I recall correctly, you were unmasked that night,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. That was right. Arno wasn’t the only one who had seen her face. She had eliminated the guard who had torn her mask off, but how many of the others who had chased after them had gotten a glimpse? Her brows furrowed as well. “We’ll tread carefully,” Arno continued. “If Crowborough knows who you are, then we’ll come up with something.”

“Its certainly a cause for concern,” she stated, attempting to brush aside any nervousness she was feeling. “ _Que sera sera_.”

Arno rose to his feet then and took a step toward her. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Naeva,” he told her, voice hard with conviction. “I refuse to let any harm come to you while you are at my side.”

His words startled her, but not in a bad way. His sentiments were unexpected more than unwelcome. She felt her arms heat up beneath the sleeves of her coat, and her ears blazed under her hood. She only hoped that it wouldn’t creep up her neck and cheeks while he still stared at her so fiercely- his eyes blazing in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the windows.

There was that feeling. Not so much the one of home, but rather the one that made her heart pound faster in her chest. The one she had felt when Raphael first held her hand, or touched the small of her back to guide her through a crowd.

Afraid to keep his gaze for too long, she looked away. “We should probably get back to the roof. They could return at any moment.”

 

\---

 

While planning the ambush, they had made a list of ways it could go wrong and contingency plans if that were the case. It generally involved various methods of escape, ranging from entirely plausible to completely unorthodox. They had inspected both alleys on either side of the building Crowborough and his host were living in and added every possible outcome to the list.

If all went to plan, they would simply be jumping down from the scaffolding that lined either side of the left alleyway and onto the roof of the carriage as it pulled up, grab Crowborough, and bring him peace right there.

However, given their last encounter with their target, they were prepared for him to be a resourceful opponent. There was no way he didn’t have an escape route already planned, and he likely wouldn’t go down without a fight.

So when _Le Corbeau_ had returned, and they enacted their plan, the pair were reasonably certain of their success. It took less than a minute for everything to go wrong.

Both Crowborough and Derosiers had escaped the carriage and made a break for it down the left alleyway. That was fine. Naeva and Arno charged after them. It wasn’t a dead end, so they did their best to stay close. They just didn’t manage to stay quite close enough.

Desrosiers was armed, and- as they quickly realized -as skilled a duelist as Crowborough, able to hold off both Assassins at once. While they were occupied by their deadly opponent, the British Templar fooled with something along the wall of their residence.

The sound of wood groaning and ropes snapping filled the air as Desrosiers broke off the duel and bolted after his compatriot. Looking up, Naeva had easily spotted why they were running now.

Yes, there had been a list of things that could go wrong with the ambush.

Unfortunately, _the scaffolding being dropped on top of them_ hadn’t been on it.

Naeva didn’t freeze. She did break into a run, but she wasn’t quite fast enough, and the whole structure was collapsing above their heads. She bolted for the other end of the alley, gritting her teeth as she pushed herself to run as fast as she could. Dimly, she heard Arno shout her name beside her and then suddenly she was hurled forward an extra few feet, tripping and falling to the ground as it shuddered beneath her.

She regained her bearings quickly, stumbling back to her feet as she watched Crowborough and Desrosiers keep running. Their carriage on the other side of the now-blocked alleyway, the two Templars would have to escape on foot- ideal conditions for her and Arno to pursue them.

Wait.

_Arno._

Remembering her partner, she whirled around and spotted him struggling to free himself from underneath the debris of the scaffolding. “ _Mon Dieu, Arno!_ ” she shouted, racing back to him and crouching at his side, unsure what to do with her hands. His legs were trapped beneath a support beam and a platform.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he told her through gritted teeth. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” The way he shakily muttered a curse under his breath as he fought to escape told her otherwise.

“Can I help?” Naeva asked, reaching for the support beam. Arno shook his head vehemently.

“No, don’t bother,” he said. “There’s other things under there. Move the support beam and they might make me get more stuck. I just...have to...get my legs out….”

Biting her lip, Naeva glanced over her shoulder. Their target was no longer in sight, but a brief moment of focus with her Eagle Vision showed her their trail. If she hurried, she might stand a chance of catching up with and defeating _Le Corbeau_. Inhaling deeply, she turned back to her Arno who grunted as he finally managed to free his right leg, leaving only his left stuck beneath the debris.

“I’m going after them,” she said determinedly. “I can still salvage the mission.”

Her partner’s head snapped up and he looked at her like she had grown two heads for a moment before suddenly all the color drained from his face. “What?”

“I’m going after them. If I hurry I may be able to catch up and finish this,” she repeated, straightening and taking a step away from him. “You said you were fine?”

He looked so bewildered in that moment, about what Naeva wasn’t too sure. Was he surprised that she was going to finish their mission? He shouldn’t be. She had checked up on him and he had said himself that he was fine. And if he said he was alright, she was rather inclined to believe him. He seemed to struggle for a moment before managing to say, “Yes, but-”

There was no time. Naeva cut him off. “I’ll meet you back at the Sanctuary later!” She shouted over her shoulder as she broke off at a run in the direction their target had disappeared in. Over the pounding of her boots on the pavement, she heard him struggling even more furiously.

“Naeva! Naeva wait!” He yelled, the pitch frantic. “ _Wait for me!_ ”

Something, whether it was his words or the sheer terrified urgency in his voice, made her stop and turn back. She’d hardly run ten meters, but she saw the look on his face clearly. He was panicked to say the least, only slightly relieved because she had paused. He had doubled his efforts in trying to free his other leg, and it was obviously causing him pain. Still, the look on his face.

He resembled how she felt watching Raphael leave her behind. The panic and the fear of watching someone you care for deeply turn their back and walk (or in this case, run) away from you, possibly never to return, and being unable to stop it. The reminder was heart-shattering.

Worse, it dawned on her just how similar this was to the way he told the story of Elise’s death. He became trapped, and her sister, determined to end the life of their father’s killer hadn’t waited for him to free himself. While that wasn't his fault, Naeva knew he blamed himself because of it. Arno would have died for Elise.

Naeva refused to allow herself to fall down into the never ending pit of questions his reaction provoked. Was he simply still traumatized from her sister’s death? Probably. Did he harbor similar feelings for her? Likely not. Arno was like her brother.

_Right?_

Shoving the thoughts aside, Naeva sighed and walked back to her partner, kneeling on the ground next to him. _Le Corbeau_ could live to fight another day. Arno needed her now.

“Be gentle. You don’t want to strain anything,” she chided him quietly as she settled in. This would take some time.

If she noticed how Arno trembled, or how he stared at her with eyes glittering from tears while he sighed shakily in relief, she didn’t comment on it.

 

~oOo~

 

The sun had set by the time the two Assassins managed to quite literally limp back to the Sanctuary.

His left foot more thoroughly stuck than his right, Arno had indeed strained his leg trying to extricate it. As a result, Naeva had slung his left arm across her shoulders and braced herself so her partner could lever himself off the ground. It was a long and tiresome walk back, Naeva refusing to allow Arno to walk on his own lest he injure his leg further.

Thus, they had arrived back at the Sanctuary quite late, out of breath, and covered in sweat, dust, and splinters. There was no doubt that they would be picking wood shards out of their clothes for the next few days. It was lucky nothing sharp had pierced Arno’s leg in the collapse.

As they made their way through the darkened halls of the Assassin City, the pair garnered more than a few sets of staring eyes.

“You’d think they’d never seen a pair of sweaty Assassins supporting one another,” she muttered as they shuffled along.

“One another?” Arno quipped in reply. “Last I checked you were fine. You don’t need support.”

_The placement of your hand under my arm says otherwise_ , Naeva thought, though she bit her tongue to hold the comment in and tipped her head from side to side in acknowledgement. “That’s true,” was all she said. Now was not the time.

“You’re really not injured?” He asked more quietly, as though he were secretly unsure. She could understand given the last debacle they had undertaken together, how she had hidden just how dangerously injured she was from him until the very last second.

“ _Oui_.” She nodded to add to the assurance. “I'm fine, thanks to you.” If he hadn’t rushed forward to shove her, it was likely that her head would have been underneath the support beam that had fallen upon his legs. He hadn’t said anything, but she had given some thought to it while they walked. He had saved her life. In response to her current statement, Arno turned his head aside as far as he could manage and grumbled in concession.

Changing the subject, she said, “I can’t wait to take a warm bath and have a hot meal.”

“Being clean once more does sound rather appealing,” Arno replied, pausing as they reached a fork in the tunnels and forcing her to stop with him. “I take it you mean to inform the Council of our mission before we wash up?”

“What can I say, Arno?” She asked with a lopsided grin. “I was trained by a Mentor, and I was trained to be diligent. I’m being diligent.”

“ _Une Sainte_ ,” her partner muttered under his breath.

“ _Crétin_ ,” she replied, removing her hand from under his arm long enough to smack the back of his head. “I am not.”

The stairs to the Council’s office proved difficult, but they persevered. Naeva was determined, and while Arno was decidedly less so, he followed her. Getting through the entryway was a challenge and she had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing as they shuffled sideways through the antechamber into _Madame_ Trenet’s office.

“Naeva!” Her mentor exclaimed, rising from behind her desk. “ _Mon Dieu_ , not again!”

“No, not again,” Arno assured her, drawing the Mentor’s attention away from her pupil as she supported him. “I’m the injured party this time.”

“He’ll be fine, _Madame_ , I assure you,” Naeva put in finally. “He strained his leg, nothing too serious.”

Inevitably, her former teacher had questions regarding their mission, so they were guided to the chairs that sat before her desk and directed to sit for the long explanation.

They told in great detail of what they had discovered- the news of Bastien Olivier being more than just another crafty Templar seeking power, and the standing threat on Napoleon’s life from the London Rite. However, along with the good, they had to explain the bad- _Le Corbeau_ had escaped again. Neither said anything about why.”

“Naeva, you’re uninjured. Why didn't you go after him?”

The question, like the discussion, had been inevitable, and she had been preparing herself to give an answer that wouldn’t give Arno’s fears away. She could still hear the heart-wrenching panic in his voice from when he called out to her.

“I stayed behind with Arno to ensure he did not come to any greater harm. It was unclear at the time how injured he was. And, as we’ve mentioned, Crowborough was not alone. By himself he is already a formidable opponent, but it would have been suicide to go after him while he was in the company of Desrosiers,” she explained. She could feel Arno’s eyes on her. Good stare or bad stare, her partner chose not to comment on her statement.

“Sound logic,” _Madame_ Trenet said, leaning back in her seat. “We’ll have to keep our eye on _Monsieur_ Desrosiers then. What of Crowborough?”

“We can only assume that he will have disappeared once more,” Arno interjected at long last. “It will take time and more searching, but we should be able to find him again.”

“ _Oui, Madame_ ,” Naeva added, “We will do our best to track him down and bring him peace.”

“I am sure you will,” her mentor said with a kind smile. “I’ve come to realize something over the months that the two of you have been working together. You make a fine team. Masters Quemar and Beylier are also very pleased with your work. As a result, for your achievements both together and respectively….”

“This Council would like to formally grant the title of Master Assassin to both of you- Arno Dorian and Naeva de la Serre,” a voice said from behind her.

Whirling around in her seat, she spotted the two other Council members standing a couple meters behind them. Master Quemar smiled proudly, while Master Beylier remained mostly stoic. She flicked her eyes to Arno, who looked equally if not more shocked than she was.

“Arno Dorian, we bestow the rank of Master upon you for your achievements. Despite setbacks, you have always been a strong Assassin. You discovered the Sword and an Apple of Eden and returned them to the Brotherhood. Just as the strongest metals are forged through fire, so you have been made strong by your many trials. In many ways, you are the Prodigal son of the Assassins,” _Madame_ Trenet continued.

“Naeva de la Serre, we bestow the rank of Master upon you for your tireless effort. Despite your heritage, you have become a true Assassin at heart. You arrived here knowing nothing and have since learned all that I could teach and more. Like your partner, you are well-recognized for your achievements within the Brotherhood. I am proud to have watched you grow, and I am glad to have lived to see this day,” the Mentor finished.

It was all too much to take in. Her teacher was telling her that she was being promoted. “But, Mentor,” she interjected, frowning in confusion, “this is all so sudden. I was just made an Assassin less than a year ago. How-”

Beylier cut her off, rather than her mentor. “You were only a Novice because _Madame_ Trenet couldn’t spare the time to visit Marseille and promote you herself,” he said. “You have been an Assassin in deed if not in word for far longer than a year.”

Swallowing back her apprehension, Naeva nodded and kept her mouth shut.

“Yes,” _Madame_ Trenet agreed, “this accolade has been a long time coming for both of you.” Focusing on Arno, she said, “We would have named you a Master soon after your return, but decided it prudent to wait given the circumstances.”

Her partner nodded, bowing his head submissively in her direction. “I understand,” he replied.

“You'll each be fitted for a set of robes more suitable for your rank in the near future,” Beylier added. “For now, though, it might be best for you to return to your rooms and get cleaned up. You've had a trying day, and there is still much work to be done, _Masters_.”

“For now, celebrate. Your mark can wait until the morning, and France is well on her way to finding her balance once again,” Master Quemar put in. “Be proud for the part you have played in making it so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arno is ready to Throw Hands with Raphael.
> 
> Honestly, I think this chapter has my favorite interaction between them thus far- being when Naeva tries to get a rise out of Arno and succeeds :)
> 
> Quick announcement: this is the last of the pre-written chapters I had ready to rock and roll. The next one is...part way done. It’s going to be very fluffy, I will just say that. All I have to do is finish writing it. I know where I’m going with it and what I’m doing so as long as I buckle down, I’ll get it done in time for next week.......but I might not. If that’s the case, I apologize in advance, but I’ll do my darndest!
> 
> Have an awesome week guys!!


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